PIKE 


=£>-JOHN  URI  LLOYD 


was  as  bright  as  a  wild  red  rose ; 
She  'was  as  far r  as  a  lily  t/tat  gronvs 
In  Palestine  " 


Stringtown 

On  the  Pike 

A  Tale  of  Northernmost  Kentucky 
By 

John  Uri  Lloyd 

Author  of  "Etidorhpa,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP, 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  r 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMFANT 

rettrvtit 


Contents 


PAGE 

STRING-TOWN  ON  THE  PIKE i 

CHAPTER 

I.    THE  VISION  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT    ,     .     .     .     .  4 

II.     CUPE'S  STORY  AND  THE  OMEN i» 

III.  THE  LOST  DEED *4 

IV.  THE  "  CORN  BUG"  CURSES  THE  PARSON      .     .  31 
V.    JUDGE  ELFORD'S  DECISION 35 

VI.    THE  DILEMMA  OF  THE  "  CORN  BUG  "...  41 

VII.     "THE  BEST  OF  THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  LAW  TOO"  4? 

VIII.    THE  STORY  OF  THE  COLONEL 53 

IX.    THE  STORY  OF  THE  PARSON 66 

X.    THE  FEARFUL  STORM  OF  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE,  1863  76 

XI.    INTO  THE  STORM  PASSED  THE  MINISTER  ...  81 

XII.      "LOOK    OUT    FO'    THE    RED-HEAD    BOY  "   ...  9° 

XIII.    THE  ARREST  OF  CUPE 94 

XIV.     COURT  DAY 99 

XV.     STRINGTOWN  JAIL I03 

XVI.  CUPE  IN  JAIL lo8 

XVII.  "Too  SLOW  FO'   A  COON  AN"  TOO  FAST  FO*  A 

POSSUM" "* 

XVIII.    THZ  TRIAL  OP  CUPE 1*0 

XIX.    THE  RIGHT  OF  CLERGY *3° 

XX.    JUDGE  ELFORD *37 

iii     . 

247973 


Contents 

CHAPTM  PAGE 
XXI.    WHY  THE    HONEY    BEE    DON'T  SUCK  RED 

CLOVER 140 

XXII.    "  GOD  MADE  DE  SIGN" 149 

XXIII.  SUSIE  is  LOST 153 

XXIV.  CUPE'S  ADVICE  TO  HIS  DOG 156 

XXV.    THE  HAUNTED  HOLLOW 159 

XXVI.    DESPONDENT  STRINGTOWN 170 

XXVII.    ^RED-HEAD" 173 

XXVIII.     SPIRITS 182 

XXIX.     CUPE'S  STORY  OF  THE  PAST 185 

XXX.      CUPE    PURCHASES    HIS    WlFE 195 

XXXI.     "A  FEARFUL  SIGN" 200 

XXXII.     THE  SPIRITS  AFFECT  DINAH 204 

XXXIII.  OLD  JEW  MOSE  AND  SAMMY  DREW    .     .     .  210 

XXXIV.  THE  VILLAGE  CIRCLE  OF  STRINGTOWN    .     .  213 
XXXV.     THE  LOVE-SONG  OF  THE  REBEL  SOLDIER      .  217 

XXXVI.     «  DINAH,  CUPE  MUS'   LEAVE  DE  CABIN"      .  222 

XXXVII.     RED-HEAD,  CAPTIVE 228 

XXXVIII.     RETURN  or  THE  REFUGEES 232 

XXXIX.     CUPE'S  PLEA  FOR  SUSIE'S  NAME    ....  236 

XL.    THE  FEARFUL  AFRICAN  ORDEAL  TEST    .     .  246 

XLI.    THE  STRINGTOWN  SCHOOL 252 

XLII.     SUSIE'S  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STRINGTOWN 

SCHOOL 257 

XLIII.    THE  CHALLENGE  OF  RED-HEAD     ....  261 
XLIV.    RED-HEAD'S  STORY  OF  THE  FEUD      .     .     .  265 
XLV.     "TELL  ME,  JENNIE,  TELL  ME  WHAT  IT  is"  274 
XLVI.     "  STRANGE     SENSATION    THAT,    THE    BEGIN 
NING  OF  LOVE"      .               179 

iv 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XLVII.    THE  VOICE  OF  THE  NIGHT 284 

XLVIII.  THE  WEIRD  FORM  AGAINST  THE  SKY    .     .     .  289 

XLIX.  SUSIE,  RED-HEAD,  AND  SAMUEL  DREW  .     .     .  293 

L.     CUPE'S  THREAT 301 

LI.    THE  MAGIC  MIRROR 306 

LII.  MY  SECOND  JOURNEY  OVER  A  PATH  I  NEVER 

YET  HAD  TROD 318 

LIII.  "NEVER,  UNLESS  DUTY  CALLS,  SHALL  I  RETURN 

TO  STRINGTOWN" 324 

LIV.     FAREWELL  TO  SUSIE 329 

LV.     PROFESSOR  SAMUEL  DREW 333 

LVI.     THE  STRINGTOWN  POISON  CASE 337 

LVII.     SUSIE  PLEADS  FOR  RED-HEAD 341 

LVIII.  "Pow'FUL  INTERESTIN'  STORY"  (i  JOHN,  Hi.)..  351 
LIX.  "  MORE    LIVES  THAN    ONE    MUST  GO    IF   RED 
HEAD  DIES" 359 

LX.  TROUBLE  IN  STRINGTOWN  COUNTY  COURT      .  361 

LXI.  SUSIE,  RED-HEAD,  AND  MYSELF  AGAIN  .     .     .  366 

LXII.  "THE  FEUD  is  OVER,  HOLCOMB"     ....  371 

LXIII.     A  STRANGE  LOVE-STORY 382 

LXIV.   "I  CAME  TO  SAY  FAREWELL" 390 

LXV.  "YOU  HAVE  FOUGHT  AND  I  HAVE  LOVED"   .  395 

LXVI.  "To  WHAT  HAS  AMBITION  LED?".     .     .     .  405 

LXVII.  THE  Music  AND  THE  VOICE  DIE  OUT  FOREVER  409 


The  Kentucky  photographic  scenes 

shown  in  this  book  are  by 

Mrs.  John  Uri  Lloyd 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 


MY  name  is  Samuel  Drew,  and  I  am  now  professor 
of  chemistry  in  the  University  on  the  Hill.  When 
I  think  of  my  boyhood,  memories  of  the  Kentucky  pike 
arise,  and  I  recall  the  experiences  of  Sammy  Drew,  a 
barefooted  child.  The  boy  who,  in  August's  heat,  be 
tween  noonday  and  mid-afternoon,  dared  to  walk  bare 
footed  upon  that  road,  raised  his  feet  quickly.  I  know 
whereof  I  speak,  for  I  often  relieved  my  blistering  soles 
by  slipping  aside  into  the  weed-lined  by-paths,  preferring 
them,  even  if  they  passed  near  the  honey-locust  tree, 
under  which  danger  lurked  in  the  great  brown  thorns 
that  always  menace  the  barefooted  boy  of  Kentucky. 
That  pike  is  yet  vivid  to  memory.  Again  I  see  the  dust 
of  bygone  times.  Again  the  sun's  fierce  rays  force  me 
to  greater  laziness.  Often  I  seek  a  shade  tree  at  the 
roadside,  there  to  find  the  grassy  brink  of  a  grateful 
spring  and,  leaning  over  the  sward,  bury  my  face  in  the 
hard  limestone  water,  drinking  deep  and  long.  Then, 
thoroughly  content,  I  sit  on  the  overhanging  sod  in  the 
shadow  of  the  tree,  and  spatter  the  cool  water  with  my 
toes,  bathing  a  stone-bruise  in  the  very  fount  from  which 
I  drank.  With  nose-tip  close  to  the  water's  surface,  I 
eye  the  flitting  cloud  shadows,  scan  the  reflected  tan- 
freckled  face,  and  watch  the  water-bugs  and  crawfish  as. 
deep  in  the  limpid  pool,  they  stir  the  sand  in  the  vein's 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

mouth.     Finally  I  turn  upon   my  back  and  gaze   into 
space,  dreaming  of  nothing,  thinking  of  nothing. 

From  earliest  school-days  chemistry  excited  my  keen 
est  interest.  When  but  a  child  I  sat  absorbed  during 
the  experiments  made  by  the  teacher  while  he  instructed 
the  advanced  class  —  the  class  in  chemistry  —  of  our 
country  school.  By  chance  I  finally  obtained  a  copy  of 
"  Comstock's  Chemistry,"  and  day  by  day  kept  abreast 
with  the  students  who  recited  in  that  subtle  science. 

Either  luck  or  fate  made  a  chemist  of  me,  —  luck,  be 
cause  the  subject  chanced  to  be  taught  in  my  room  ;  or 
fate,  because  u  what  is  to  be  will  be."  I  could  not  carry 
a  rule  in  u  Brown's  Grammar  "  from  one  day  to  another, 
and  I  still  detest  the  word  "grammar"  because  of  those 
twenty-six  artificial  rules.  If  I  committed  to  memory 
some  portions  of  history,  in  a  week  thereafter  I  mixed 
the  incidents,  unless  they  were  connected  with  something 
of  chemical  significance.  I  could  not  have  remembered 
from  day  to  day  whether  Gustavus  Adolphus  fought  in 
the  War  of  the  Roses  or  conducted  the  Thirty  Years' 
conflict.  Of  everything  but  chemistry  my  head  seemed 
vacant.  All  else  slipped  through  as  a  wind-struck  fog 
flies  through  a  leafless  woodland.  The  result  was  that, 
though  other  subjects  filtered  out  of  my  brain  as  through 
a  sieve,  chemistry  remained  securely  caught  by  the  mind 
meshes.  I  should  add,  however,  that  historical  events 
connected  with  the  enticing  science  remained,  as,  under 
similar  conditions,  did  mathematical  signs  and  formulae. 
Chemistry  served  as  a  nucleus  of  attachment.  My  one 
sided  mind  caught  the  chemistry  of  a  subject  and  bound 
thereto  or  blended  therewith  all  connected  matters,  as 
alcohol  blends  ether  and  water.  The  teacher  scolded 
me  often  in  the  kindness  of  severity  for  my  indifference 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

to  other  subjects.  I  was  one  of  the  blockheads  ;  at  least 
he  seemed  to  regard  me  as  such,  not  appearing  to  know 
anything  of  my  one  talent.  The  little  boys  of  my  row 
each  learned  something  concerning  everything,  as  do  all 
mediocre  brains,  and  one  by  one  passed  beyond  me;  and 
I,  in  humiliation,  sat  conspicuous  among  younger  chil 
dren,  absorbed  in  the  one  unreached  study  that  was  des 
tined  in  after  years  to  wreck  my  life.  Chemistry ! 
Would  to  God  I  could  blot  out  the  word ! 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    VISION    IN7    THE    MOONLIGHT 

RETURNING  unexpectedly  to  my  little  home  one 
Saturday  afternoon,  I  found  Professor  Drake,  the 
village  school-teacher,  in  conversation  with  my  mother. 
Before  my  presence  was  noticed  —  for,  being  barefooted, 
my  step  was  noiseless  —  I  caught  the  fragment  of  a  sen 
tence  :  u  It  is  painful  to  be  forced  to  tell  a  mother  these 
facts  about  her  son,  but  duty  compels  me  to  say  that  I 
despair  of  teaching  him."  Then  seeing  me,  he  paused 
and  said  something  about  continuing  the  subject  at  an 
other  time.  Slow  as  I  was  in  some  respects,  his  words 
needed  no  interpretation.  My  cheek  burned  in  humili 
ation,  my  heart  beat  violently ;  for  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
one  mentally  incapacitated  to  hear  the  fact  stated,  and, 
less  still,  for  one  who  loved  his  mother  as  intensely  as  I 
did,  to  realise  that  the  most  painful  part  of  her  life  of  de 
voted  privation  was  small  in  comparison  with  the  distress 
that  resulted  from  my  stupidity.  I  was  indignant,  and 
felt  tempted  to  return  and  upbraid  the  teacher,  for  were 
not  his  words  the  immediate  cause  of  my  mother's  sor 
row  ?  Her  face  was  expressive  of  despair.  But  the 
facts  were  on  the  pedagogue's  side ;  and,  moreover,  I 
appreciated  that  he,  too,  grieved  over  my  misfortune. 
I  fled  from  the  house  and  aimlessly  moved  on,  medi 
tating,  miserable.  I  climbed  the  back  fence  into  the 


The  Vision  in  the  Moonlight 

woodland  pasture,  upon  which  our  little  garden  jutted, 
and  after  crossing  it  wandered  away  from  Stringtown,  I 
cared  not  whither.  An  hour  passed,  and  my  anger  and 
mortification  subsided.  I  ceased  to  think  of  the  inci 
dent;  indeed,  no  record  remained  to  remind  my  now 
dormant  intellect  of  the  fact  that  I  existed.  My  mind 
had  become  as  unconscious  of  all  external  things  as  it 
was  of  inherent  emotions.  My  limbs  moved  irrespon- 
sively  and  my  body  automatically  passed  along.  I 
fancy  that  I  had  assumed  the  condition  of  a  brute  of 
the  lower  class  or  a  creature  like  the  turtle,  the  differ 
ence  being  that  in  my  brain  an  intellectual  spark  rested, 
and  through  it  the  drowsy  I  of  self  could  be  excited  into 
consciousness,  while  the  lethargic  mind  of  the  turtle 
rests  irredeemably  in  the  unreachable  shadows  without. 
The  great  distinction  between  man  and  brute  is  that 
man  knows  he  is  man,  and  the  brute  knows  nothing  of 
himself.  I  existed  and  was  awake,  it  is  true,  but  in  this 
trance  that  possessed  me  knew  nothing  of  external 
things. 

The  sun  sank  slowly  toward  the  distant  tree-tops, 
and  still  I  wandered  without  method.  The  village  dis 
appeared  behind  me,  but,  regardless  of  my  whereabouts, 
I  strolled  dreamfully  along  until  at  last  I  stumbled  over 
an  inequality  in  the  grass.  And  as  the  flash  shoots 
upward  when  a  spark  touches  a  fibre  of  gun-cotton,  so 
the  sudden  fall  caused  my  mind  to  dart  back  into  self- 
consciousness.  The  instant  I  fell  I  became  aware  of 
the  fact  that  never  before  had  I  ventured  into  the 
present  locality.  I  next  observed  a  shadow  that  the 
sinking  sun  seemed  to  throw  toward  me.  A  long 
shadow  upon  the  hill  behind  which  he  was  disappearing, 
stretching  toward  me,  took  the  form  of  a  gigantic  cross, 
the  apex  reaching  to  and  touching  the  mound  beside  me. 

5 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

This  did  not,  at  the  instant,  cause  me  the  least  concern; 
a  shadow  is  but  a  shadow.  I  raised  my  eyes  to  seek 
the  object  that  broke  the  ray  of  sunshine,  and,  child  that 
I  was,  marvelled  then  at  the  miracle  ;  for  smooth,  as  if 
planed  by  hand,  the  top  of  the  hill  stretched  across  my 
field  of  vision  ;  there  was  no  intervening  object  between 
the  sun  and  me.  The  face  of  the  day  king,  unmarked 
by  tree  or  shrub,  shone  clear  and  untarnished  over  a 
horizontal  ridge-summit  that  was  fenceless,  objectless, 
as  straight  as  a  ruler.  Stretching  down  the  barren  hill 
side,  came  those  rays  straight  into  my  face  ;  and  down 
that  smooth  hillside  projected  toward  me,  as  if  it  had  an 
intent  in  thus  pointing  at  myself,  the  great  grey  shadow 
lay  sharp,  and  as  still  as  if  carved  in  stone  —  an  effect 
without  a  cause  —  and  just  beyond  its  tip  I  lay  trembling. 
I  now  realised  fully  my  location.  He  who  heeded 
not  the  warning  to  avoid  that  spot  bred  trouble  for  his 
future.  Never  before  had  village  boy  dared  to  press  the 
grass  where  I  reclined.  Never  before  had  child  beheld 
either  sunshine  or  shadow  from  the  place  I  occupied, — 
a  spot,  it  was  said,  the  Indians  shunned  because  of  its 
evil  influence  on  him  involved  in  its  occult  mazes.  In 
the  tradition  of  the  early  settlers  an  Indian  maiden  had 
here  met  a  tragic  death ;  and  we  knew  that  it  was  here 
that  the  father  of  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  (so  nicknamed  be 
cause  of  his  propensity  for  the  juice  of  the  corn)  had 
been  murdered.  In  mature  life  no  intelligent  person 
believes  ghost  stories  or  these  absurd  Indian  traditions ; 
tales  that  cluster  around  every  precinct  of  our  land  and 
find  resting  place  in  the  minds  of  children  and  of  ignorant 
people.  But  to  us  children,  and  to  the  negroes  with 
whom  we  were  so  intimate,  that  place  was  accursed,  and 
would  so  have  been  held  by  us,  even  in  the  face  of  any 
testimony  to  the  contrary.  Although  the  soil  was  rich, 

6 


The  Vision  in  the  Moonlight 

bushes  of  sassafras  and  persimmons  —  God's  emissaries 
for  worn-out  grounds  too  poor  for  other  plant  existence 
—  refused  to  grow  on  or  near  the  spot.  In  this 
silent  dell  of  the  "  dark  and  bloody  ground,"  that 
from  a  distance  we  children,  venturing  cautiously, 
had  once  timidly  approached,  whisperingly  pointed  to, 
and  then,  huddled  together,  ran  from  as  if  from  Satan, 
I  now  lay  alone.  My  heart  throbbed  and  thumped, 
my  flesh  quivered  at  I  knew  not  what,  my  limbs 
refused  to  move ;  and  the  face  of  the  great  sun,  clear 
as  crystal  and  bright  as  molten  silver,  sank  slowly 
in  the  west.  Simultaneously  the  weird  earth  shadow, 
that  singular  grey  cross,  fell  slowly  toward  me.  I 
watched  it  lengthen  until  the  distended  arms  crept  ov.er 
my  form  and  enveloped  me,  and  then  a  quivering  play 
of  changing  sunset-lights  spread  about  the  sky,  amid 
which  at  last  the  upper  rim  of  the  sun  disappeared,  the 
rays  flickered ;  yet,  strangely  enough,  before  twilight 
deepened  darkness  fell  upon  me.  Whether  the  shadow 
to  which  I  refer  was  an  object  from  the  material  or  out 
side  part  of  life  that  appeared  to  my  real  eyesight,  or  a 
shade  from  the  inner  circle  that  impressed  my  percep 
tive  faculties,  I  shall  not  presume  to  say ;  the  reader 
may  form  his  own  conclusions  concerning  the  cause  of 
the  phenomenon.  I  report  only  what  I  witnessed ;  and 
I  yet  recall  vividly  the  spectral  outline  of  this  weird, 
strange  shadow,  stretching  without  discernible  cause 
down  the  long,  barren  hillside.  I  remember  that  as  I 
lay  prostrate  on  the  lone  tomb,  gazing  at  the  approach 
ing  umbra,  I  wondered  first  if  it  would  reach  my  feet, 
and  then,  as  its  apex  passed  over  them,  if  its  great  arms 
would  engulf  me.  I  remember  to  have  given  a  sigh  of 
relief  as  the  last  vestige  of  the  sun  was  about  to  disap 
pear;  for  1  had  unconsciously  accepted,  without  think- 

7 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

ing  it  out,  that  should  the  arms  of  the  grey  cross  reach 
my  body,  my  life  would  end  with  the  sinking  of  the  sun 
and  the  lengthening  of  the  shadow.  Then  I  recollect 
that  as  the  upper  rim  of  the  crescent  sun  sank  and 
d  from  view,  and  the  final  slanting  rays  bent 
themselves  and  streamed  upward,  the  arms  of  the 
cross  at  the  same  instant  passed  over  my  body,  —  and 
I  lecullect  nothing  more.  How  long  I  lay  in  the  dew 
of  the  blue  grass  I  cannot  say,  but  when  I  regained 
consciousness  it  was  as  if  I  were  awakening  from  a 
dream. 

It  seemed  as  though  I  had  been  possessed  of  a  vision, 
yet  no  details  remained.  I  had  surely  experienced  the 
kno vv ledge  of  sweets  and  sours,  sorrow  and  pain,  peace 
and  distress,  but  not  of  things,  thoughts,  or  sights.  A 
black  object,  wrapped  in  black  paper,  has  an  existence  in 
the  night,  although  it  cannot  be  seen  ;  a  fragment  of 
platinum  foil,  thrown  on  a  surface  of  molten  silver,  has 
an  existence  in  the  light,  yet  is  not  to  be  seen ;  a  trans 
parent  object  in  a  transparent  liquid  held  between  the  eye 
and  the  sun  /V,  and  yet  is  not  perceptible  to  the  sight. 
Thoughts  and  experiences  of  my  sleeping  self  had  been 
realities,  but  to  my  waking  self  were  not  real.  I  had 
lived  and  died,  had  passed  into  other  realms  and  back 
again,  and  experiencing  all,  I  yet  recollected  nothing. 
This  struck  me  as  more  than  strange ;  but  only  for  an 
instant  did  I  think  of  the  occurrence,  for  I  realised  im 
mediately  that  I  was  not  now  alone.  As  yet  I  had  not 
opened  my  eyes;  but  as  the  sleeping  child  intently 
watched  becomes  restless,  stirs  before  it  awakes,  so  did 
I  feel  the  presence  of  some  body  or  spirit  other  than 
my  own. 

Cautiously  seeking  to  discover  the  person  gazing  at 
me,  for  my  nerves  were  conscious  of  that  piercing  cyef 

8 


The  Vision  in  the  Moonlight 

I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow  and  peered  about,  to 
see  standing  close  behind  me  an  Indian  girl,  tall,  erect, 
beautiful.  By  the  light  of  a  full  moon  I  saw  her  form 
clearly,  distinctly,  and  noted  that  her  head  was  decorated 
in  gaily  coloured  feathers,  and  that  her  dress  was  made 
of  the  draped  skins  of  animals.  Her  bosom  was  partly 
covered,  partly  bare ;  her  face  and  bust  together,  as 
I  now  recall  the  scene,  making  a  picture  that  might 
serve  as  an  artist's  ideal.  One  hand  rested  on  her  side ; 
the  fourth  ringer  of  the  other  was  placed  upon  her  lip,  as 
if,  in  the  language  all  nations  understand,  the  language 
of  signs,  she  were  bidding  me  be  silent ;  and  thus  she 
stood,  with  elbow?  extended,  gazing  before  her.  She 
made  no  movement,  and,  as  one  entranced,  I  lay  mo 
tionless  at  her  feet.  She  seemed  to  be  listening  for  a 
sound,  and  to  fear  that  I  would  move  or  speak ;  but  I 
was  powerless  and  could  not  move. 

Then  again  I  observed  a  strange  phenomenon.  The 
graceful  position  her  form  unconsciously  assumed  cast  a 
shadow  over  the  earth,  on  and  up  and  into  the  clear  sky. 
Over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  back  toward  where  the  sun 
had  sunk,  the  figure  of  a  gigantic  cross  high  in  heaven 
was  uplifted,— -a  perfect  cross.  The  distended  elbows 
of  the  maiden  created  the  two  shadow-arms  of  the  weird 
cross,  and  from  behind  her,  shining  through  her  form  as 
through  a  haze,  I  saw  the  rising  moon's  face.  Marvel 
lous  apparition  !  The  visage  of  the  moon  peered  at  me 
through  her  very  body,  and  thrust  that  shadow  over  the 
earth  and  into  space  beyond.  Strange  —  I  remember  to 
have  thought  —  strange  that  when  facing  the  sun  I 
should  have  closed  my  eyes  upon  a  cross  upon  the  earth, 
and  opened  them  upon  an  overlying  cross  in  heaven. 
Yet  while  this  query  led  my  wondering  thoughts,  it  did 
not  surprise  me  that  the  girl's  form  was  translucent; 

9 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

neither  did  it  seem  remarkable  that  I  heard,  in  answer  to 
my  mind's  words,  the  reply, — 

uNot  strange  at  all.  The  figure  before  you  was 
present  while  the  sun  still  shone,  but  such  creations  are 
invisible  in  the  sunlight.  She  it  was  who  absorbed  the 
radiance  of  the  sun's  rays,  and  thus  permitted  the  shafts 
of  darkness  behind  her  to  cast  back  at  the  sun  the  skel 
eton  of  that  depleted  sun-ray.  The  shadow  observed  on 
the  hillside  in  the  sunlight  resulted  from  the  dominating 
power  of  the  shade  of  darkness  behind.  To  mortals  the 
sun  prevails  over  all  else,  but  to  other  existences  shade  is 
the  reality.  She  whom  you  now  see  is  only  per 
ceptible  when  a  person  occupies  the  peculiar  position, 
both  of  body  and  mind,  that  you  now  enjoy ;  not  every 
one  can  see  what  you  behold." 

My  reverie  was  at  this  point  suddenly  interrupted ;  a 
second  shadow  crossed  the  moon's  face,  and  I  beheld, 
stealthily  approaching  the  girl  from  behind,  an  Indian 
with  uplifted  stone  axe.  I  tried  to  scream,  to  move,  but 
could  not.  The  smile  on  the  face  of  the  unsuspecting 
girl  remained  sweetly,  wildly  beautiful.  Behind  her 

countenance  that  other  face  peering  through  her  own 

as  if  the  tracing  of  a  saint  were  thrown  before  the  picture 
of  a  devil  —  leered,  sinister,  desperate,  ugly  ;  and  through 
both  of  them  the  moon  was  shining.  I  tried  again  to 
warn  her  of  the  danger,  but  could  not  break  the  spell 
that  bound  me;  staring,  motionless  and  powerless,  I  saw 
the  uplifted  war-axe  of  the  phantom  chief  sink  deep  into 
the  black  hair  that  covered  her  spectral  skull. 

Following  now  a  sheep-path  along  a  hillside,  now  a 
corn-row  through  the  field,  now  a  dry  creek-bed,  I  ran. 
Whether  my  course  led  to  the  right  or  the  left  con 
cerned  me  not.  I  only  asked  to  leave  that  hateful  valley 
as  far  behind  as  my  strength  would  carry  me.  Could  I 

IO 


The  Vision  in  the  Moonlight 

have  known  the  way,  I  would  certainly  have  fled  to  my 
home ;  but  I  sped  bewildered,  and  saw  no  familiar  land 
mark.  A  sudden  rustle  of  the  bushes  at  my  feet  caused 
my  heart  to  jump,  my  steps  to  halt ;  a  timid  rabbit 
crossed  my  path,  vanishing  in  the  darkness  as  quickly  as 
it  had  sprung  from  cover.  Again  I  fled,  only  to  halt,  trem 
bling  ;  an  object,  black,  of  mammoth  size,  of  strange 
shape,  appeared  before  me,  and  as  I  stood  transfixed  the 
monstrous  form  grew  before  my  eyes,  evolved  from 
nothing.  Floating  from  out  the  air,  it  towered  to  the  very 
heavens  above;  and  then  as  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared 
did  it  shrink  and  assume  the  familiar  form  of  a  black  cow. 
She  advanced  along  the  path  upon  which  I  stood,  stead 
ily  and  peaceably,  possibly  ruminating  over  subjects  too 
deep  for  human  cogitation.  Quickly  it  flashed  upon  my 
mind  that  to  trace  back  the  path  the  cow  had  trodden 
would  carry  me  to  the  barnyard  and  the  home  of  her 
owner,  and  acting  on  the  impulse,  I  fixed  my  gaze  upon 
the  moonlit  ground  and  steadily  walked  along  that  well- 
defined  cow-path.  When  next  I  raised  my  eyes,  the 
light  of  a  candle  shining  through  a  window  gladdened  my 
sight ;  with  rapid  step  I  reached  an  open  doorway,  and 
without  knocking  or  even  sounding  a  cry  leaped  into 
the  room.  As  I  made  that  last  spring  forward,  it  seemed 
as  though  unseen  hands  clutched  my  coat-sleeves,  as 
though  goblins  and  ghosts  threw  themselves  upon  me,  as 
though  weird  arms  encircled  my  form  and  clutched  my 
ankles  and  feet,  and  as  though  superhuman  things  cried 
and  moaned  about  me. 


CHAPTER   II 

CUPE'S    STORY    AND    THE    OMEN 

A  DELIGHTFUL  sensation  came  over  me  as  I  lay 
in  security  once  more  among  human  beings. 
Only  those  who  have  been  through  experiences  such  as 
I  suffered  can  appreciate  the  relief  I  felt.  God  help  the 
coward  !  God  pity  him  who,  frightened,  lies  powerless 
with  consciousness  intact.  Fright  blots  out  all  other 
pain  ;  and  he  who  adds  one  useless  pang  to  the  suffering 
of  a  terrified  creature  must  answer  for  that  despicable  act 
in  the  hereafter  where  sins  are  expiated. 

Exhausted,  bleeding,  suffering  physical  pain,  and  yet 
content,  I  rested  upon  the  floor,  mentally  taking  note 
of  the  surroundings.  The  room  was  that  of  a  plain  log 
house.  The  floor  was  very  rough,  being  made  of  hewn, 
split  beech  logs,  the  rounded  portion  down,  the  edges 
roughly  jointed  together.  The  furniture  was  of  the 
simplest  description  ;  the  place  was  lighted  by  a  single 
candle.  A  girl  and  a  man  occupied  the  cabin,  the  latter 
none  other  than  the  "  Corn  Bug ;  "  and  it  was  evident 
that  I  had  wandered  from  my  course  perhaps  in  a  spiral 
out  and  back  again,  for  the  valley  in  which  I  saw  the 
strange  grey  cross  was,  I  well  knew,  but  a  short  distance 
from  the  rude  log  house  in  which  I  now  was  sheltered. 
The  other  occupant  of  the  house  was  to  me  unknown  : 
a  singular  little  creature,  with  great  eyes  and  round  face 
encircled  by  wild  flowing  hair,  a  curious  child  who  fas- 

12 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

cinated  my  gaze  despite  my  pain  and  terror.  The 
silence  caused  by  my  strange  entrance  was  at  length 
broken  by  the  "Corn  Bug." 

"  Sammy,  what 's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said. 

u  I  am  lost,"  I  answered. 

"  Not  while  you  are  here." 

"  I  was  scared." 

"  Wall,"  he  continued  slowly,  "  thare  ain't  no  bars 
ner  catamounts  now ;  why  did  n't  yo'  lie  down  beside  a 
fence  er  in  a  briar  patch  this  warm  night  an'  sleep  ? " 

"  I  was  too  scared." 

"  What  scared  yo',  sonny  ?  Thare  ain't  no  varmints 
hareabout." 

"  I  saw  something  terrible." 

"  What  war  it  ?     Tell  me  what  yo'  saw." 

"  I  can't,"  I  replied  with  a  shudder. 

"  Wha'  wa'  yo'  ?  " 

"  In  Bloody   Hollow." 

The  look  of  incredulity  passed  from  his  face;  he  came 
at  once  to  my  side,  raised  me  from  the  floor,  led  me  to 
his  own  chair,  and  seated  me  by  the  side  of  the  little  girl. 

"  Cupe,"  he  called  out,  —  "  Cupe,  yo'  lazy  nigger,  git 
up;  the  boy't  yo'  told  me  about  es  here." 

There  was  a  noise  overhead,  and  then  through  a  hole 
in  the  ceiling  appeared  two  legs,  and  Cupe  began  the 
descent  of  the  ladder  which  led  to  the  cubby  hole  of  the 
attic. 

"  What  fo'  yo'  call  Cupe,  Ma'se  ?  " 

"  The  boy,  Cupe,  the  boy  't  ye  said  would  come  from 
Bloody  Holler.  Here  es  the  boy." 

The  white-headed  negro  manifested  no  surprise. 

"  I  done  tole  yo'  so,  Ma'se,"  he  said  reflectively ;  tc  I 
knowed  he  wah  com'n'  ;  de  signs  nebbah  lie,  Ma'se  ;  de 
figgah  in  de  fiah,  de  hoodoo  tracks  in  de  ashes,  de  tings 

13 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

dis  nigger  saw  an*  hea'd  when  de  chicken  crowed  las' 
night  fo'  midnight,  tings  what  de  white  man  doan  know 
nuffin'  'bout,  pinted  t'  de  movin'  ob  de  spell.  Ma'sc, 
tings  p'dicted  am  come.  Ole  Ma'se,  yoah  pap,  sleep  in 
Bloody  Hollah  an*  den  he  died  es  Cupe  said  he  would ;  de 
gearl  sleep  in  Bloody  Hollah,  an'  now  de  boy  am  heah. 
De  end  ob  de  spell  am  nearly  come." 

"  What  air  yo'  talkin'  about,  yo'  black  scoundrel  ?  " 
muttered  the  "  Corn  Bug." 

"  Nebbah  yo'  min',  Ma'se,  dah  ain't  no  use  in  bor- 
rowin'  troub'l ;  nebbah  yo'  min',  Ma'se ;  de  spell  will 
end  fo'  yo'  when  de  yeah  ends,  an'  den  yo'  an'  ole  Cupe 
mus'  part." 

u  Talk  sense,  Cupe,  talk  sense  ;  I  told  yo'  to  come 
down  out  ov  your  loft,  not  because  I  want  any  ov  youah 
goblin  nonsense,  nor  any  ov  youah  nigger  signs,  but  ter 
tie  up  the  scratches  on  this  youngster's  feet ;  can't  yo' 
see  he  es  tired  an*  sore  an'  scared  nearly  ter  death  ? 
Move,  yo'  black  rascal,  move  !  " 

Old  Cupe,  muttering  to  himself,  obeyed;  he  washed 
and  bound  up  my  lacerated  feet,  having  first  anointed 
them  with  a  sweet-scented  soothing  ointment  made  of 
the  resin  of  the  sweet-gum  tree. 

"  Now  for  his  supper,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug."  «  Stir 
yourself,  Dinah  !  " 

Then  I  noticed  another  form  gather  itself,  as  if 
it  were  created  from  the  shadows.  From  the  edge 
of  the  hearth,  where,  motionless,  she  had  been  huddled, 
an  old  black  negro  crone  arose  and  silently  busied  her 
self  arranging  my  supper,  which  proved  to  be  simple 
enough,  but  very  sweet  to  the  taste.  Then  when  the 
task  was  done  and  the  dishes  had  been  removed,  she 
slunk  back  to  the  shadows,  and  in  the  edge  of  the  light- 
flittings,  where  the  seen  and  the  unseen  blended,  crouched 

14 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

again  on  the  hearth,  clasped  her  hands  around  her 
ankles,  drawing  them  close  to  her  body,  and  rested  her 
chin  on  her  knees.  Part  of  her  form  was  visible  in  the 
firelight,  part  was  blotted  out ;  and  thus  she  crouched 
motionless,  silently  eyeing  me.  When  I  had  finished 
the  meal,  Cupe  again  began  talking  to  the  "  Corn  Bug." 

"  Ma'se,  yo'  mus'  lis'n  t'  what  Cupe  says,  case  he 
means  yo'  well.  Dis  nigger  hab  nuss'd  yo'  since  yo' 
wah  a  little  tot ;  he  hab  raised  yo',  honey.  He  nebbah 
lef  yo',  chile.  When  uddah  niggers  desarted  de  planta 
tion,  Cupe  stood  by  yo',  an'  yo'  knows  dat  eb'ry  bressed 
word  he  ebah  tole  yo'  wah  God's  trufF.  Now  lis'n, 
Ma'se ;  de  preachah  nebbah  spoke  mo'ah  serous  dan 
Cupe  do  now.  De  signs  p'dicted  am  come.  Cupe  hab 
kept  t'  hisse'f  what  ole  Ma'se  tole  him  in  de  ole  man 
sion  house  dat  bu'n  down  ahftah  Ma'se  wah  killed,  an' 
now  de  time  am  come  fo'  yo'  t'  know  what  Cupe  hab  t' 
tell  t'  yo.'  Yo'  calls  et  nigger  signs,  but  lis'n,  Ma'se. 
Who  stuck  closer  t'  yo'  all  dese  yeahs  dan  dis  nigger 
hab  done  ;  an'  what  fo'  should  Cupe  fool  yo',  Ma'se  ? 
Now  white  man  an'  nigger  mus'  not  try  t'  circumbent 
Prov'dence  ;  an'  de  time  am  come  fo'  Cupe  t'  act,  case 
Cupe  am  done  gwine  t'  tole  yo'  sump'n'  now  what  no 
man  ebah  know  'cep'n'  Cupe  an'  de  dead  folks  what  caint 
talk  t'  de  likes  ob  yo'.  Lis'n  t'  Cupe's  story,  Ma'se. 

"  Ole  Ma'se,  yoah  pap,  wah  a  wile  chile.  Night 
time  come,  he  wah  rac'n'  ober  de  country  cotch'n  coons, 
danc'n'  shindigs,  gwine  ter  places  wha  he  nebbah  ought 
t'  had  be'n,  actin'  up  in  ways  dat  ole  Cupe  doan  care  t' 
memberlec',  an'  doan  intend  t'  memberlec'.  Wall,  one 
mahn'n'  in  de  time  ob  de  yeah  when  de  'simmons  wah 
jes  git'n'  sof  an'  de  'possum  wah  git'n'  fat  an'  de  co'n 
wah  bein'  shocked,  ole  Ma'se  come  home  an'  say  t' 
Cupe:  c  Cupe,  lay  in  de  back  logs  an'  git  de  mansion  in 

15 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

order ;  fer  on  de  las'  day  ob  de  yeah  dah  '1  be  a  wed'n% 
an'  yo'  niggers '11  hab  a  missus.'  'Fo'  de  Lawd,  dis 
nigger  wah  s'prized.  He  wah  not  'quainte'  wid  all  de 
signs  den,  else  he  would  hab  seed  de  ebil  comV." 

A  low  chant,  melody  without  words,  negro  melody 
that  harmonised  strangely  with  Cupe's  pathetic  expres 
sions,  arose  from  the  lips  of  the  shadow-clad  old  crone. 
Evidently  her  mind  was  vibrating  in  unison  with  Cupe's 
words,  and  until  the  chant  died  away  old  Cupe  stood 
silent.  Then  he  resumed  :  — 

"  Howsumebbah,  Cupe  knowed  some  tings,  an'  he 
say  t'  ole  Ma'se  :  '  Ma'se,  doan  bring  trouble  on  yoah 
head.'  Ole  Ma'se  ansah  :  c  Yo'  brack  rascal,  whv  cain't 
one  man  marry  es  well  es  'nuddah  ? '  c  'T  ain't  dat, 
Ma'se,'  Cupe  say :  '  de  marryin'  is  all  right,  else  de 
good  Book  would  n't  say  so.  //  am  de  time.  Nebbah 
marry  on  de  las'  day  ob  de  yeah,  lessen  yo'  want  trouble. 
It  am  a  slap  in  de  face  ob  Prov'dence,  Ma'se.  Wait 
one  day  longah,  Ma'se  ;  all  de  niggers  '11  tole  yo'  trouble 
come  lessen  yo'  lis'n  t'  'vice.' 

u  l  What  a  nigger  know  'bout  Prov'dence  ?  Damn 
yoah  nigger  nonsense  ! '  say  ole  Ma'se. 

"  An',  suah  nuff,  when  de  las'  day  ob  de  yeah  come, 
he  did  marry  Missus  Alice,  yoah  mudder,  one  ob  de 
sweetes*  creatures.  Lawd  !  Lawd  !  chile,  but  she  wah 
a  honey  !  But  all  de  niggers  shake  der  heads  an'  slip 
away  de  wed'n'  night,  an'  stan'  roun*  gloomy-like,  an' 
whisper  t'  demsels,  an'  suah  nuff  nigger  sign  come  out 
right ;  an'  de  end  ob  dat  mistake  ain't  come  yet.  Nebbah 
mo'ah  did  Ma'se  hab  any  luck.  One  night  de  bahn 
buhn  ;  next  winter  six  ob  de  best  niggers  done  run  off  t' 
Canerdy  ;  dem  fool  niggers.  Den  ole  Ma'se  gits  cross 
an'  takes  powerful  strong  t'  his  cups,  an'  night  ahftah 
night  dat  sweet  young  missus  would  hab  t'  sleep  in  her 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

big  room  wicTAunt  Dinah  on  de  flo'  by  de  bed,  an*  ole 
Cupe  on  de  flo'  by  de  doah  outside  in  de  hall.  An' 
missus  would  cry  herse'f  t'  sleep,  an'  in  de  mahn'n 
when  ole  Ma'se  come  home  swearin'  an'  cross,  she, 
honey  deah,  would  fro  her  arms  'roun'  his  neck  an'  — 
oh  !  wall,  Ma'se,  what 's  de  use  ob  'memb'h'n  eb'ryting  ?  " 

"  De  honey  deah,  de  honey  deah!"  moaned  Dinah; 
"  bress  de  sweet  chile." 

u  Shet  yoah  mouf,  Dinah ;  dis  am  no  time  fo' 
blub'rin'  niggers,"  Cupe  rudely  said  ;  and  then  con 
tinued  : 

"  So  at  las',  one  stormy  night  ole  Ma'se  git  on  horse 
back  an'  ride  off  t'  de  tab'n,  an'  dat  night  yo'  come  inter 
de  world,  Ma'se  honey.  Bress  de  soul  ob  yoah  deah 
angel  muddah.  When  de  nigger  what  go  fo'  ole  Ma'se 
fin'  him,  he  wah  playin'  keards  at  de  tab'n  an'  he  cuss 
an'  swar  case  de  nigger  say  missus  wan'  him  quick,  an' 
nebbah  a  step  would  he  move  till  mahn'n  come ;  an'  jes 
befo'  ole  Ma'se  step  in  de  doah  de  angels  carry  de  sweet 
missus  out  ob  de  windah.  She  lib  only  a  few  hours 
ahftah  she  see  de  face  ob  her  baby  chile.  Yo'  am  dat 
chile,  Ma'se.  De  doctah  know  she  could  n't  las',  an'  he 
ax  her  ef  she  hab  any  word  t'  say  befo'  she  go  t' 
glory  ;  an'  she  say  say  yes,  an'  ax  fo'  Cupe. 

"  Lawd,  Lawd,  Ma'se  !  dat  wah  awful  hard  times. 
Cupe  take  his  shoes  off,  an'  tiptoe  in  de  room,  an'  kneel 
down  by  de  bed,  an'  cry  like  a  baby,  an'  say  very  gentle- 
like  :  c  Fo'  de  Lawd,  honey,  Cupe  ain't  t'  blame  fo'  de 
troub'l,  case  he  wahne'  Ma'se  ob  de  ebil  what  come  ob 
marryin'  on  de  las'  day  ob  de  yeah.'  An'  she  say,  berry 
weak-like:  CT  ain't  dat,  Cupe;  yo' alls  am  yinnercent. 
What  I  wan'  t'  say  am  'bout  tings  wot  comes  heah- 
oftah.'  Den  she  say  :  '  Cupe,  when  I  am  gone,  dis 
little  yinnercent  babe  won't  hab  no  muddah  an'  de  Lawd 
3 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

only  knows  what  kind  ob  a  fahdah.'  Cupe  he  keep  still 
an'  make  no  ansah,  fo'  what  could  he  say  ?  an'  he  only 
cry  an'  cry.  Den  missus  say  :  '  Cupe,  nebbah  yo'  lebe 
dis  chile;  nebbah;  promise  me  dat,  Cupe.'  An'  Cupe 
say  :  '  Fo'  de  Lawd,  missus,  I  promise.'  Den  missus 
say  :  '  Cupe,  yo'  is  a  nigger,  an'  all  niggers  can't  do 
what  dey  wants  t',  but  yo'  is  not  a  fiel'  nigger,  yo'  is  a 
fam'ly  nigger,  an'  yo'  will  nebbah  be  sold,  nebbah.1  An* 
nebbah  mus'  yo'  lebe  dis  chile  'cep'n'  it  am  fo'  de  good 
ob  de  chile.'  An'  1  swar  befo'  de  Lawd  t'  missus  dat 
nebbah  de  weddah  shall  be  too  hot,  nebbah  too  cole,  t* 
keep  Cupe  from  doin*  his  duty  to  de  new  blos'm.  An* 
den  she  reach  out  her  han',  monstrous  weak-like,  an* 
ole  Cupe  smuddah  it  wid  kisses,  an'  keep  a  kiss'n\ 
fo'  he  could  n't  talk,  an'  he  had  n't  nuffin'  else  t'  do." 

A  wail  came  from  the  crouching  form  on  the  hearth. 
A  wail  that  spoke  as  words  could  not  have  done  of  the 
impression  Cupe's  story  was  making  on  the  solitary  wit 
ness  of  that  night's  experience.  Old  Cupe  stopped  his 
discourse  and  this  time  waited  patiently  until  the  last 
sound  died  away,  then  resumed  as  if  there  had  been  no 
interruption. 

u  An'  den  de  doctah,  he  say  :  c  Cupe,  lay  de  han'  back, 
Cupe;'  an' de  doctah  go  sof'ly  t'  de  doah  an'  call  Aunt 
Dinah,  who  had  gone  out  t'  cry,  an'  he  say  t'  Dinah  : 
'Take  dt  chile,  Dinah  ;  yo'  am  now  de  mammy  ;  '  an' 
den  he  smoove  de  cubbahleds  an'  Cupe  say  how  easy- 
like  missus  go  t'  sleep  when  she  git  de  trouble  off  her 
min',  an'  de  doctah  say  :  '  Yes,  Cupe,  nebbah  t'  wake.' 
An'  den  ole  Cupe  look  close  at  de  face  an'  see  dat  de 
deah  young  missus  wah  dead.  Her  sweet  spirit  had 

1  Great  distinction  was  made  between  family  and  field  slaves. 
Family  slaves  often  were  free  to  talk  as  the  master's  children  were 
flot  permitted  to  do. 

18 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

gone  t'  glory  while  ole  Cupe  kiss  de  han'  ob  de  missus 
what  wah. 

"  An'  Cupe  moan  and  cry  an*  de  doctah  come  an'  say, 
monstrous  sah'ful-like  :  '  Doan  yo'  know,  Cupe,  dat  she 
am  happy  now  ?  Dah  ain't  no  swar  words,  dah  ain't 
no  tab'n,  dah  ain't  no  coon  dawgs  yelpin'  all  night  wha' 
she  am  now.'  Cupe  say:  '  'T  ain't  dat,  Ma'se  Doctah  j 
case  she  am  gone  t'  glory,  de  Lawd  knows  she  am  happy 
now  ;  't  aint  dat  —  but  de  ebil  sign.'  c  What  ebil  sign  ? ' 
say  the  Doctah  ,  an'  Cupe  say :  c  Trouble,  pile  on  top 
ob  trouble  ;  fo'  de  deah  missus  is  done  gone  t'  glory  an* 
Cupe  had  de  han'  kiss'n'  it  like  es  it  wah  alibe.  No 
wussah  sign  could  be.  God  help  the  chile,  Ma'se  Doc 
tah  !  God  help  de  blos'm  !  ' 1  An'  de  doctah  could  n't 
no  moah  ansah  sech  argyment  dan  de  preachah  kin. 
He  say,  says  he :  '  Nigger  signs  air  nigger  signs.' 

u  Now  Ma'se  honey,"  Cupe  said,  suddenly  addressing 
the  "  Corn  Bug,"  "  Ma'se  honey,  hab  Cupe  not  done 
what  he  promis'd  yoah  deah  muddah  ?  Hab  he  ebah  lef ' 
yo'  ?  Hab  he  not  stuck  closer  t'  yo'  dan  a  tick  sleep'n' 
b'hin'  a  dawg's  ear  ?  Hab  de  weddah  ebah  be'n  too  hot 
er  too  cole  fo'  Cupe  t'  sarve  yo'  ?  Hab  yo'  ebah  got 
any  sarse  words  back  when  yo'  cuss  ole  Cupe  ?  Ma'se, 
yo'  know  dat  ef  yo'  had  done  what  Cupe  wanted,  yo' 
would  hab  been  well  edye'cate'  an'  a  fine  gem'n  like 
Ma'se  Manley  am.  Yo'  knows  dat  ole  Cupe  trot  ahftah 
yo'  from  de  day  yo'  wah  a  chile  until  what  yo'  air  now, 
an*  hab  begged  an'  prayed  dat  yoj  lis'n  t'  Cupe  when 
yo'  go  on  de  wile  track." 

"  Yes,"  conceded  the  "  Corn  Bug  ;  "  "  yes,  Cupe, 
yo'  hev  been  a  good  nigger." 

"  Wall,  what  fo'   Cupe  lie  now,   Ma'se  ?     What  fo' 

1  No  worse  omen  could  appear  than  for  a  chicken  or  animal  of 
any  kind  to  die  in  one's  hand.  Old  Cupe  received  a  fearful  stroke 
when  he  held  that  dying  hand. 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Cupe  say  tings  dat  am  not  so  ?  Lis'n,  Ma'se  honey  ;  de 
day  befo'  ole  Ma'se  wah  killed  Cupe  wahn'  him  ob  de 
danger  in  de  air.  Ma'se  he  laff,  at  first,  but  Cupe  say 
t'  him,  es  he  say  t'  yo',  '  What  fo'  should  Cupe  lie  ?  ' 
When  ole  Ma'se  heah  dat  argyment  he  lis'n'  like  an'  say 
t'  Cupe,  *  Cupe,  life  am  mighty  onsartin'.  Nigger  sign 
er  no  nigger  sign,  life  am  onsartin',  an'  I  guess,  Cupe,  I 
might  es  well  es  not  tells  yo'  some  tings  t'  do  in  case 
yoah  uddah  nigger  signs  am  right ;  not  dat  I  b'lebe  in 
tings  yo'  talk  'bout ;  fo','  says  ole  Ma'se,  says  he,  '  nig 
gers  am  'stish'us.'  Den  he  go  on,  kindah  talkin'  to 
hisse'f:  '  Howsumebbah,  niggers  am  not  fools.  'Sides,' 
say  ole  Ma'se,  c  yo'  is  true  t'  yoah  friends,  Cupe,  an' 
dat  's  moah  dan  I  can  say  fo'  de  white  people  what  sit 
on  de  seat  an'  play  keards  'longside  me.'  So  he  git 
sollum'  like,  an'  say,  says  he :  '  Cupe,  if  yoah  nigger 
sign  consahnin'  me  comes  true,  an'  dey  hab  monstrous 
often  come  out  right,  dah  air  uddah  nigger  signs  what 
will  come  true  consahnin'  tings  heahoftah.  Cupe,'  Ma'se 
say,  c  I  hab  be'n  a  fool,  Cupe,  an'  it  air  too  late  t'  quit. 
I  hab  be'n  a  fool,  Cupe,  an'  I  knows  it  an'  don't  keer  t' 
quit,  case  et  air  pleasant-like  now  t'  be  a  fool.  But  yo' 
hab  stuck  t'  me  an'  t'  de  chile,  an'  de  time  may  come 
when  yo'  will  wan'  t'  be  free.'  An'  den  he  took  a 
papah  out  ob  his  pocket  an*  say,  says  he  :  *  Dese  heah 
papahs  am  all  'cordin'  t'  law,  an'  when  yo'  show  dem, 
yo'  is  a  free  man.' 

"  Cupe  he  take  de  papah,  an'  try  t'  t'ank  him,  but  de 
Ma'se  go  on  wid  de  talk  an'  would  n't  let  him  say 
nuffin'.  '  Keep  yoah  mouf  shet  an'  doan  gib  me  no 
back  talk,'  he  say.  c  Dah  am  jes  one  ting  fo'  yo'  t'  do, 
an'  dat  air  t'  stick  t'  de  chile.' 

41  ''Deed  I  will,  Ma'se.  I  done  promise  de  missus 
dat  de  night  de  angels  come.' 

2O 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

« '  Stick  t'  de  chile,  Cupe,'  he  say.  An'  den  de  Ma'se 
stop  talkin'  an'  walk  off. 

"  So  much  fo'  yoah  pap,  an'  now  fo'  yoah  gran'pap 
an'  my  pap." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug." 

"  Wall,  yo'  knows  es  well  es  Cupe,  dat  ole  Ma's$, 
yoah  pap,  wah  killed  in  Bloody  Hollah,  an'  he  wah  tole 
by  Cupe  dat  he  would  be  killed  likes  he  wah,  jes  es 
Cupe  tole  yo'  'bout  dis  boy  comin'  t'-night  an'  de  gearl 
com'n'  de  day  dat  she  did  come.  Howsumebbah,  dat 
doan  consahn  yo'  jes  now.  What  I  gwine  t'  say  con- 
sahns  ole  Ma'se's  fahdah,  de  fh'n  Colonel ;  he  wah  yoah 
gran'pap,  an'  my  pap  wah  his  nigger,  jes  es  Cupe  air 
yoah  nigger.  An'  what  pass'  between  ole  Colonel, 
yoah  gran'pap,  an'  my  pap,  yoah  fahdah  nebbah  know'd, 
case  the  sign  wah  not  right  an'  Cupe  could  n't  speak 
widout  de  sign ;  but  now  de  sign  p'dicted  am  heah,  an' 
Cupe  gwine  t'  tole  yo'  'bout  what  yo'  nebbah  'spected 
in  all  yoah  bohn  days. 

"  Ole  Ma'se's  fahdah  (yoah  gran'pap)  say  t'  Cupe's 
fahdah  (my  pap)  long  years  ago  :  '  All  dese  lan's  b'longs 
t'  me;  all  ober  behin'  de  big  woods  is  mine;  all 
dis  part  ob  dis  country  is  mine.'  Den  he  took  pap 
to  his  iron  trunk  w'ich  he  brought  from  Mexiky 
wha'  he  wah  fit'n  'long  wid  Ma'se  Butler,  who  lib'  in 
Cah'lton  —  de  chist  what  nebbah  no  libbin'  soul  'cep' 
de  ole  Ma'se  had  seen  into  befo',  an'  he  op'n  it  an'  say, 
says  he  :  '  Dese  heah  papahs  am  deeds  fo'  all  de  lan's 
yo'  can  see  if  yo'  clime  de  highest  tree  on  de  plantation. 
Now',  says  he,  '  if  dis  heah  son  ob  mine  doan  tuhn  out 
good  —  an'  he  doan  promise  much,  an'  Lawd  knows  I 
hain't  done  much  need'h  t'  make  him  good  —  yo'  keep 
dese  papahs  till  he  dies  ;  den  gib  'em  to  yoah  boy,  Cupe ; 
an'  tole  him  what  t'  do  wid  em.  He  am  a  fam'ly  nig' 

21 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

ger  an'  won't  be  soF.  But  ef  my  chile  act  like  a  man, 
yo'  can  gib  him  dese  papahs  an*  all  dis  money/  Wid 
dat  he  showed  pap  a  pile  ob  gol',  sech  es  I  nebbah 
'spected  t'  see  in  all  my  bohn  days." 

u  You  're  lyin',  Cupe,  yo'  know  yo'  lie,"  said  the 
"  Corn  Bug."  "  I  hev  seen  inside  yer  iron  chest,  an' 
thare  ain't  no  papers  nor  no  gold  in  et  neither." 

"  Nebbah  do  yo'  min'  de  chist,  Ma'se  ;  nebbah  yo' 
min'  'bout  de  gol'.  Yo'  don't  git  none  ob  dat ;  it  goes 
to  de  chillun  what  sleep  in  Bloody  Hollah,  case  de  sign 
say  so.  Now  yo'  knows,  honey,"  Cupe  continued, "  yo' 
knows,  Ma'se  honey,  dat  yo'  nebbah  hab  be'n  settled 
steady,  so  dat  Cupe  could  do  what  ole  Ma'se  axt.  De 
bottle  am  yoah  mastah,  an'  it  wah  de  mastah  ob'  yoah 
pap  an*  yoah  gran'pap,  so  Cupe  hab  jes  kep'  de  papahs  es 
my  pap  kep'  dem  ;  an'  de  money  an'  de  papahs  hab 
been  waitin'  fo'  de  sign,  an'  now  de  sign  am  heah." 

ct  What  sign,  yo'  black  fool,  what  sign  ?  "  asked  the 
u  Corn  Bug,"  with  an  eagerness  which  showed  that  he 
was  more  interested  in  the  story  than  he  cared  to  admit. 

"  De  sign  what  folks  dat  doan  b'lebe  in  signs  nebbah 
see,"  Cupe  replied;  u  but  dese  two  chillun  wah  mixed 
up  in  de  sign  ;  Cupe  hab  done  tole  yo'  dis  day,  Ma'se, 
when  de  sun  wah  shinin',  dat  dis  heah  boy  would  come 
when  de  bat  flap,  an'  de  owl  hoot  t'-night,  an'  dat  Bloody 
Hollah  would  mix  itse'f  a'gin  in  de  consahns  ob  dis 
fam'ly  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  reluctantly  admitted. 

"  Now  lis'n,"  continued  the  negro.  "  Doan  temp' 
Prov'dence,  Ma'se;  dah  air  tings  de  preachah  doan 
know  ;  tings  dat  teachahs  can't  read  out  ob  books ; 
tings  an  ole  nigger  knows  bettah  dan  book-larned  folks. 
Dah  air  tings  white  men  can't  teach  a  nigger ;  Vase 
nigger  sense  ain't  altogeddah  same  es  white  man's  sense ; 

22 


Cupe's  Story  and  the  Omen 

an'  dah  air  tings  a  nigger  can't  splain  de  how  an'  wharu 
fob  ob  t'  white  folks,  'case  white  folks'  sense  ain't 
'zac'ly  like  nigger  sense.  Kin  de  dawg  'splain  how  he 
cotch  de  trail  ob  de  coon  ?  Need'h  am  all  niggers  de 
same.  S'pose  Cupe  should  try  t'  show  dese  half  white 
niggers,  poo'  mean  trash,  what  my  gran'pap  larn  from 
his  ole  mammy,  who  bring  dat  sense  wid  her  out  ob  de 
hot  Gol'coast 1  country,  what  could  Cupe  do  ?  Nuffin'. 
Might  es  well  try  ter  teach  white  folks  es  sech  niggers. 
Ya,  ya,  ya,"  he  chuckled.  "  Now,  sit  still,  honey,  sit 
still,  an'  Cupe  will  show  yo'  sump'n'  what  '11  s'prize  yo'." 

1  Gold  Coast,  the  part  of  Africa  Cupe's  grandfather  came  from. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    LOST    DEED 

HE  closed  and  locked  the  door,  then  untied  the  cur 
tain  string  and  lowered  the  green  paper  curtains, 
and  next  climbed  the  ladder  that  I  had  seen  him  descend, 
telling  me  to  follow  him.  He  opened  the  cover  of  an 
iron  chest,  and,  after  fumbling  about  inside  it,  asked  me 
to  look  into  its  depths.  The  bottom  was  covered  with 
a  layer  of  bright  gold  coins,  of  which  Cupe  took  a  few 
pieces  and  then  secured  a  large  folded  paper,  yellowed 
with  age,  covered  with  red  seals  of  wax  and  tied  with  a 
dull  ribbon  that  once  perhaps  had  been  of  some  bright 
colour.  Together  we  descended  to  the  room  below, 
where  Cupe  showed  the  paper  and  the  gold  to  his 
master. 

The  "  Corn  Bug "  stared  in  amazement,  and  was 
reaching  for  the  money  when  Cupe  stopped  him. 

"  Yo'  can't  tech  de  gol',  Ma'se,  de  goP  am  not 
fo'  yo'." 

"  Give  me  the  paper,"  the  man  impulsively  demanded. 

"  Heah  am  de  dokyments,  Ma'se,  de  papah  what  ole 
Colonel,  yoah  gran'pap  say  ter  my  pap  would  gib  yo-uns 
all  de  lan's  yo'  can  see  from  de  top  ob  ole  Hick'ry." 

The  white  man  took  the  paper  turned  it  about,  eyed 
it  curiously,  and  then  handed  it  back  to  Cupe.  He 
could  not  read. 

"Yo'  see,  Ma'se,"  said  Cupe,  "  de  sign  says  dat  yo' 
wah  not  t'  read  dis  papah ;  it  wah  to  be  read  by  de  boy 
who  saw  de  sky  cross  in  Bloody  Hollah." 

24 


The  Lost  Deed 

«  Here  's  the  boy,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  "  but  I 
hai  n't  heard  him  say  nuthin'  'bout  no  sky  cross." 

Old  Cupe  turned  toward  me,  and  as  he  did  so  the  ne 
gro  crone  half  rose  from  her  place  and  leaned  partly  out 
of  the  shadows. 

"  Tole  us  'bout  de  sky  cross  yo'  saw,"  said  Cupe. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Dah  wah  a  cross  in  de  sky,  an*  a  cross  on  de  earf, 
chile  ? " 

I  nodded. 

"  An'  yo'  saw  de  hant  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  saw  it." 

"An'  mu'd'h'n?" 

"  Yes,  and  murdering,  too." 

"  De  cross  am  gone,  an'  de  blood  am  gone  an*  dried 
dese  yeahs  dat  's  gone,  but  de  hant  move  on.  Back  t' 
yoah  place,  Dinah,  yo'  brack  fool !  " 

Dinah  sank  into  her  former  position,  and  Cupe  turned 
to  his  master.  "  De  boy  what  see  de  cross  am  t'  read  de 
papah,  hab  not  Cupe  done  tole  yo'  ?  An'  de  boy  what 
seed  de  cross  am  heah." 

The  "  Corn  Bug"  seemed  not  to  be  surprised  at  the 
corroboration  I  gave  of  Cupe's  prediction.  u  Adzacly," 
he  said,  "  adzacly." 

I  took  the  document  and  after  laborious  study  managed 
to  decipher  it.  Even  then  none  of  us  understood  more 
than  the  general  purport  of  the  paper.  But  old  Cupe 
had  faith  in  its  authenticity.  He  exultingly  cried,  when 
I  had  laboriously  spelled  out  the  last  word  : 

"Cupe  done  tole  yo'  so,  Ma'se;  now  what  yo'  got 
t'  say  'bout  de  tracks  in  de  ashes,  an'  de  figgah  in  de 
fiah,  an'  de  uddah  tings  what  Cupe  saw,  an'  yo'  couldn'  t 
understan'  an'  will  nebbah  know  how  he  saw  dem  ?" 

u  Why  did  n't   yo'  give   rne   that   paper   long   ago  ?" 

25 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

demanded  the  "Corn  Bug."  "Where  hev  yo'  kept 
these  things  ?  I  hev  seen  inside  thet  empty  old  chest 
often." 

"  Take  care,  honey,  take  care  ;  doan  ax  quistions  too 
libely  ;  't  ain't  safe  t'  fool  wid  dese  heah  sollum'  tings 
like  white  folks  does  wid  book  readin'."  Then  Cupe, 
growing  more  serious,  added  : 

"  Ma'se  when  de  new  yeah  come  yo'  an'  Cupe  '11  part. 
Dese  chillun  air  t'  take  yoah  place,  Ma'se,  fo'  yo'  11  go 
t'  yoah  long  home.  Dat  ting  am  sart'n,  Ma'se,  de  long 
home  am  suah  t'  come.  Cupe  measure'  de  cedah  limbs 
ag'in  t'-day,  an'  de  young  sprout  on  de  long  limb  stan* 
six  feet  from  de  body  ob  de  tree.  Dah  am  room  fo'  a 
coffin  undah  dat  limb  suah,  an'  yo'  know  yo*  wah  de 
man  what  sot  out  dat  cedah  tree."1 

"  Yes,  an'  will  plant  another  next  spring." 

"  Plant'n'  will  be  done  in  de  new  yeah,  an*  yo*  will  be 
dah,  but  yo'  won't  hole  de  spade,  an'  it  won't  be  a  tree 
what 's  planted.  Hab  not  Cupe  done  tole  yo'  ob  what 's 
suah  t'  come  t'  de  man  what  set  out  a  cedah  ?  Ma'se, 
when  de  robins  flock  nauth  t'  de  roost  in  de  thicket 
nex'  March  an'  talk  in  de  gloom  ob  ebenin',  yoah  ear 
won't  heah  de  chirpin'  voices  ;  when  de  sugah  watah 
drips  in  de  Feb'uary  sunshine,  yoj  tongue  won't  taste  de 
sweetness  ob  de  sap,  an'  yoah  eye  won't  see  de  bright 
ness  ob  de  sun  ;  an  when  de  wahm  wind  blow  an'  de 
snow  melt  in  de  spring,  yoah  cheek  won't  feel  de  breff 
dat  come  out  ob  de  souff." 

"  Ef  I  lis'n'  to  yo',  Cupe,  I  would  stop  breathin'  in 
order  to  save  my  life.  Yo'  hev  a  sign  fer  everything." 

"  Suah  yo'  will  stop  breevin'  'case  de  dawg   Dgawge 

1  The  negroes  believed  that  death  would  come  to  the  man  who 
transplanted  a  cedar  tree,  when  the  lower  limbs  grew  to  be  the  length 
of  his  coffin. 

26 


The  Lost  Deed 

WashVt'n  see  yoah  hant  an'  de  cedah  limb  on  de  tree 
yo'  sot  am  long  nuff  t'  cubah  a  coffin.  De  tree  am 
ready,  de  groun'  am  ready,  an*  de  spade  am  waitin'  in  de 
shed.  But  dah  am  mo'ah  t'  say  t'  yo',  fo'  de  uddah  sign 
say  dat  ole  Cupe,  who  nebbah  desahted  yo'  in  life,  won't 
be  by  yo'  side  when  de  las'  call  am  made.  Yo'  will  hab 
comp'ny,  Ma'se,  comp'ny  heah  when  yo'  start,  an'  com- 
p'ny  on  de  way  dahabouts.  Cupe  doan  'tend  t'  say  jes 
wha'  yo'  air  gwine,  er  how  long  de  new  partner  '11  stick 
t'  yo'  an'  de  sign  doan  say  wheddah  de  landin'  place  am 
hot  er  cole.  But  when  yoah  heaht  am  still  an'  de  mouf 
am  shet  tight,  de  eyes  am  closed  ahftah  de  silver  qua'tahs 
am  taken  off,  de  heels  air  close  t'geddah,  an'  de  toes 
p'int  up,  when  de  cubbah  ob  de  box  am  screwed  down, 
ole  Cupe  '11  be  back  by  yoah  side  a'gin.  An'  when  yo' 
air  laid  in  de  groun'  undah  de  cedah  tree  yo'  planted, 
close  beside  yo'  deah  muddah,  who  rest  undah  de  limb  ob 
de  weepin'  wilier,  an'  who  go  t'  glory  when  yo'  wah 
bohn,  ole  Cupe  '11  be  dah.  Bettah  yo'  begin  t'  git  ready 
fo'  dem  tings  what  is  p'dicted  an'  bettah  yo'  make  yo'- 
se'f  good  wid  de  pahson,  'case  de  pahson  am  might'ly 
mixed  in  yoah  affairs,  Ma'se,  an'  dese  chillun  am  mixed 
too.  De  signs  wahn't  quite  clear  when  Cupe  read  dem 
dat  night,  dah  wah  shaddahs,  but  de  omen  on  the  harf 
done  mix  de  affairs  ob  yo'  an'  de  pahson.  Doan  yo' 
know,  Ma'se,  dat  when  yo'  fin'  dis  baby  gearl  on  de 
Bloody  Hollah  grabe  dat  ole  Cupe  say  take  her  home  an* 
her  mate  '11  follah  'case  de  sign  say  so  ?  an'  hab  yo'  not 
done  growl  an'  cuss  ole  Cupe  an'  cuss  de  sign,  ah,  doan 
yo'  lub  de  chile  now  like  she  wah  yo'  own,  honey  ?  an* 
ain't  de  boy  heah  now  ? " 

"  Nigger  nonsense,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug." 
"'T  ain't  safe  t'  'fy  sollum'  tings;  bettah  shake  han's 
wid  de  pahson,  Ma'se ;  nebbah  min'  de  nigger  nonsense, 

27 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

make  fren's  wid  de  pahson,  case  dah  come  a  time  when 
de  pahson  skeah  off  de  fiah  bran'  an'  keep  off  de  debbil 
too." 

"  I  've  no  use  fer  Pahson  Jones  er  his  mummery. 
When  next  I  see  the  pahson,  I  '11  show  yo'  how  I  make 
friends  with  his  likes." 

"  De  signs  am,  Ma'se,"  continued  Cupe,  heedless  of 
his  master's  scoffing,  u  dat  Cupe  '11  stay  in  de  cabin 
ahftah  yo'  am  gone ;  de  gearl  '11  stay,  an'  de  boy  '11  come 
ag'in." 

He  stopped,  went  to  the  fire,  and  gazed  intently  into 
the  mouldering  embers,  then  slowly  said  :  "  De  boy  '11 
come  ag'in  t'  de  cabin  in  de  night-time.  De  sun  am 
shinin'  on  both  dere  heads,  but  a  cloud  am  risin'.  De 
boy  am  gone,  but  bress  de  Lawd,  honey,  Cupe  am  still 
heah  wid  de  gearl." 

Then  after  a  pause  he  stirred  the  ashes,  smoothed 
them  out,  moved  his  fingers  over  the  surface,  seeming 
to  read  from  the  embers  as  one  reads  from  a  book. 

u  De  gearl  am  in  trouble  an'  go  from  de  cabin;  she 
go'  t'  de  boy  ;  it  am  in  a  big  house ;  she  kneel  on  de 
flo'  befo'  de  boy  an'  de  boy  cubbahs  his  face  wid  his 
han's  an'  shakes  his  head."  With  a  puzzled  look  the 
negro  began  mumbling  unintelligibly,  made  another  little 
pile  of  ashes  and  flattened  it  out,  then  spoke  again  : 

u  De  gearl  wid  bended  head  an'  tear  mark  on  de 
cheek  come  slowly  back  t'  de  cabin,  dis  same  cabin, 
lookin'  behin'  her  to'ards  de  boy.  De  boy  am  in  a 
cu'yus  place,  wid  glass  fixin's  an'  bottles  all  'roun'  de 
room ;  but  he  am  sah'erin'  too  an'  am  lookin'  back 
to'ards  de  gearl.  Dey  am  not  chillun  now ;  he  am  a 
man,  an'  she  am  as  pretty  es  a  peach.  Lawd,  Lawd, 
honey  ;  but  Cupe  am  still  wid  her.  She  am  monstrous 
sah'ful,  an'  her  eyelids  am  swelled ;  she  come  back  t'  de 

28 


The  Lost  Deed 

cabin  an'  cry  an*  moan,  an*  t'row  her  arms  'roun'  olc 
brack  Cupe's  neck,  an'  den  she  an'  Cupe  go  up  t'  de 
mount'ns.  Bress  yoah  soul,  chile;  bress  yoah  soul, 
honey ;  God  bress  yo',  honey  ;  God  bress  yo' !  " 

Ole  Cupe  arose  and  picked  up  the  child,  hugged  her 
to  his  bosom  and  stroked  her  dishevelled  hair  with  his 
bony  fingers,  before  he  returned  to  his  incantations. 
Another  period  of  mummery  with  the  ashes  and  Cupe 
laughed  aloud:  "De  clouds  am  gone,  an'  de  sun  shine, 
but  it  shines  fru  brush.  De  chillun  am  t'geddah  in  de 
ole  Kaintuck  Ian'.  T'ank  de  Lawd,  Ma'se ! "  ex 
claimed  the  old  negro,  then  suddenly  he  drew  back  and 
stared  into  the  embers,  saying  to  himself:  "What's  de 
meanin'  ob  dis  ?  Smoove  dem  ashes  out,  Dinah,  'case 
sump'n'  am  wrong  wid  de  sign."  Suiting  her  actions  to 
his  words,  Dinah  leaned  over  and  smoothed  the  ashes 
with  her  long,  bony  fingers,  then  sat  in  the  shadows,, 
swaying  her  body  back  and  forth,  humming  a  soft,  low 
song,  without  words.  I  crept  timidly  forward,  and 
gazed  over  the  shoulder  of  the  kneeling  seer.  I  saw 
that  he  took  three  short  bits  of  brown  straw  and  laid 
them  parallel  on  the  perfectly  smooth  ash  surface,  the 
fragments  being  about  three  inches  apart.  "  Dah  am  a 
new  face  stan'in  wha'  de  boy  stood,  it  air  a  boy  wid  a 
red  head.  Dis  am  de  newcomah,  de  red-head  boy,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  one  straw ;  "  dis  am  de  boy  out  ob 
Bloody  Hollah,"  pointing  to  the  second  straw ;  "  dis  am 
de  honey  gearl,"  pointing  to  the  third.  Then,  as  he 
spoke,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  saw  a  marvellous  thing :  — 
that  a  perfect  coffin-like  tracing  form  crept  about  the 
straw  of  the  newcomer,  and  then  that  straw  caught  fire. 
Old  Cupe  chuckled,  pointing  to  the  straw  which  repre 
sented  myself.  After  a  lapse  of  some  minutes  this  also 
became  surrounded  by  a  similar  mark  that  grew  before 

29 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

my  eyes ;  then  it  began  to  burn,  and  almost  simulta 
neously  the  last  straw,  that  representing  the  girl,  turned 
black,  then  changed  into  white  ashes,  snow-white  ashes, 
but  I  swear  it  did  not  burn.  Old  Cupe  threw  himself 
upon  the  floor  and  moaned  in  apparent  distress.  He 
did  not  interpret  the  result  of  his  incantation  other  than 
by  this  emotion,  but  quickly  arose,  and  took  me  by  the 
hand  :  "  Chile,"  he  said,  "  yo  '11  sleep  in  de  bed  upstairs, 
an'  Cupe  '11  sleep  on  de  flo'  by  yoah  side.  Come,  chile, 
it  am  late  in  de  night,  come." 

I  was  too  much  exhausted  to  do  anything  but  sleep, 
yet  that  night  I  dreamed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  once  I 
opened  my  eyes  to  find  old  Cupe  standing  by  my  bed 
in  the  light  of  the  moon  that  streamed  through  the  little 
window,  mumbling  to  himself,  moving  his  bony  fingers 
over  and  near  my  face  as  he  had  done  over  and  near  the 
ashes,  and  I  caught  the  words :  "  Cupe  bettah  strangle 
de  life  out  ob  him  now ;  but  cussed  am  de  pusson  who 
breaks  de  workin's  ob  de  spell."  Next  morning  I 
was  awakened  early  by  a  searcher,  for  the  country  had 
been  aroused  over  my  absence,  and  when  I  reached  my 
home  and  was  folded  in  the  arms  of  my  mother  the  in 
fluence  of  the  night's  strange  incidents  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    "CORN    BUG"    CURSES    THE    PARSON 

I  HAVE  now  to  record  a  memorable  meeting  of  the 
village  circle  which  formed  about  the  stove  in  the 
country  store,  during  which  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  created  a 
sensation.  Without  apparent  provocation,  he  indulged 
in  a  tirade  against  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jones,  and  instead  of 
making  friends  with  that  gentleman,  as  old  Cupe  had 
advised,  would  have  driven  him  from  the  room  had  not 
Professor  Drake  interfered.  The  assembled  villagers 
were  astounded  by  his  violence.  The  minister  had  in 
curred  his  dislike  by  an  attempt  to  reform  his  dissolute 
habits,  an  attempt  that  unfortunately  resulted  in  arous 
ing  the  wrath  of  the  person  whom  he  aimed  to  serve. 
The  "  Corn  Bug "  from  that  moment  adhered  to  a 
dogged  determination  to  drink  more  freely.  This  even 
ing  he  seemed  unusually  vindictive,  and  without  any 
direct  incentive  viciously  assailed  the  pastor. 

u  Sech  people  as  yo',  pahson,  air  like  drone  bees, 
always  ready  ter  make  a  show  ov  yerselves,  but  never 
ready  ter  work.  Yo'  eats  the  best  the  land  raises,  yo' 
talks  ter  the  prittiest  girls,  an'  sits  beside  them  too ;  yo' 
wears  the  best  clothes,  yo'  rests  in  the  shade  in  the 
summer  an'  loafs  by  the  stove  in  the  winter.  Yo'  wears 
kid  gloves  like  a  woman,  an'  p  'caches  'bout  duty,  but 
never  acts  et  'less  takin'  care  ov  your  own  carcass  es 
actin'  duty.  Yo'  air  never  cold  lessen  yo'  lies  in  bed 
too  late  ov  a  winter  mornin'  an'  gits  yer  muscles  stiff 

31 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

because  yo'  air  too  lazy  ter  git  up  an'  make  the  blood 
move ;  an'  yo'  never  gits  hot  except  when  goin'  through 
the  sunshine  in  the  summer  from  the  shade  ov  a  tree  ter 
yer  dinner.  Yo'  Methodists  air  es  afraid  ov  water  es  a 
mad  dog,  an'  would  never  save  a  soul  ef,  in  order  ter  do 
so,  yo'  had  ter  wet  yer  feet  in  ice  water,  when  you  'd 
let  the  other  feller's  one  soul  go  an'  save  yer  own  two 
soles.  Pshaw  !  I  hev  seen  Hard  Shell  Baptists  an' 
Campbellites  break  the  ice  at  a  baptisin'  an'  walk  right 
inter  a  pond  ov  ice  water  a  mile  away  from  a  fire  ;  an' 
yet  yo'  stands  by  a  stove  an*  dips  the  tips  ov  yer  fingers 
in  warm  water  an'  sprinkles  et  over  a  baby  an'  calls  thet 
*  vvorkin'  in  the  Master's  field.' 

"  Yo'  would  n't  laze  around  all  the  week,  an'  eat  an' 
sleep  an'  sleep  an'  eat,  ef  yo'  was  n't  too  lazy  ter  work 
like  a  man  should  work,"  he  continued,  growing  more 
insulting  as  he  proceeded  :  "  Yo'  would  n't  take  what  I 
am  a-givin'  yo',  either,  if  yo'  had  the  spunk  ov  a  sick 
rabbit  er  the  energy  ov  a  sleepin'  'possum.  Yo'  would  n't 
cross  the  street  in  a  shower  ter  save  a  dyin'  child,  an' 
yo'  would  n't  dare  crack  yer  finger  in  the  face  ov  a 
turtle-dove  fer  fear  yo'  might  get  pecked." 

Professor  Drake  arose  and  indignantly  demanded 
order.  The  pastor  had  listened  in  silence,  making  no 
response,  but  it  could  be  seen  that  his  passions  were 
much  moved  and  that  he  was  holding  himself  in  check 
only  by  strenuous  effort. 

"  One  duty  of  gospel  ministers,"  he  replied  rather 
sadly  as  the  echoes  of  the  insulting  voice  of  the  "  Corn 
Bug  "  died  away,  "  is  to  teach  tolerance  and  practise 
forgiveness.  God  knows  it  would  be  easier  to  strike 
now  than  to  keep  down  my  anger ;  but  how  can  we 
follow  the  Master  we  serve,  and  not  forgive  those  who 
wrong  us  ?  How  can  we  ask  others  to  heed  our  words 


The  "Corn  Bug"  curses  the  Parson 

unless  we  set  an  example  ?  No  doubt,  my  friends, 
ministers  frequently  err.  Yes,  my  hearers,  yes,  minis 
ters  are  often  to  be  blamed  for  errors  of  judgment  or  for 
self-indulgence.  They  are  not  always  the  bright  ex 
amples  in  holy  living  they  should  be.  Perhaps  they  live 
in  too  great  luxury  ;  perhaps  they  have  too  many 
pleasures ;  perhaps  they  are  not  willing  to  undergo 
privations  as  they  should.  My  friend,"  he  continued, 
turning  towards  his  adversary,  u  I  thank  you  for  this 
lesson,  over  which  I  shall  ponder,  and  by  which  I  shall 
endeavour  to  profit ;  and  if  ever  it  chances  that  I  can 
return  to  you  the  kindness  you  have  shown  me  in  this 
view  you  have  given  me  of  myself,  if  you  ever  have 
need  of  my  services  in  an  extremity,  you  will  find  that  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  wet  my  feet  in  your  behalf.  Neither 
shower,  snow,  nor  storm,  neither  heat,  cold,  nor  darkness 
shall  keep  me  from  my  duty  in  the  future,  if  they  have 
ever  done  so  in  the  past." 

Was  it  chance,  or  was  it  a  link  in  the  "  spell,"  that 
caused  the  door  to  open  just  before  the  speaker  pro 
nounced  the  last  sentence  ?  Old  Cupe,  with  uncovered 
head,  his  white  wool  and  beard  contrasting  strongly  with 
his  shiny  black  face,  stepped  into  the  room,  stood  before 
the  minister  and  said  : 

"  When  de  yeah  goes  out  be  ready,  pahson,  when  de 
yeah  goes  out." 

"  Nigger  nonsense  is  nigger  nonsense,"  said  the 
"  Corn  Bug,"  suddenly  becoming  quiet  and  in  a  half- 
apologetic  way,  turning  from  Mr.  Jones  and  addressing 
Judge  Elford  ;  u  never  mind  the  black  fool."  Then, 
turning  to  Cupe,  he  abruptly  asked:  "Did  yo'  bring 
them  thare  papahs  ?  " 

The    negro    handed    him    the   yellowed  deed,  which 
was  passed  to  the  judge. 
3  33 


The  "Corn  Bug"  curses  the  Parson 

"  Jedge,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  "this  'ere  papah  air 
ov  more  or  less  valyer,  'cordin'  ter  what 's  written  an' 
who  wrote  et.  I  ain't  eddycated  ter  understand  the 
sense  ov  sech  things,  an'  don't  purtend  ter  know  what 
lawyers  knows,  an'  this  papah  is  a  law  papah,  es  any  one 
can  see  by  the  red  sealin'  wax  an'  other  marks."  The 
judge  untied  the  faded  ribbon,  deliberately  unfolded  the 
time-worn  script  and  silently  read  the  contents. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  document  ?  "  he  asked  at 
length. 

"  Cupe,  the  lazy  thief,  has  kept  et  fifty  years  an' 
more  among  his  nigger  things." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  said  the  judge,  meditatively 
addressing  Cupe. 

"  Ol'  Colonel,  Ma'se's  gran'pap,  gib  it  ter  my  pap." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  show  it  sooner  ?  " 

"  De  sign  wah  not  right." 

"  What  sign  ?  " 

"  Nigger  sign,  Jedge,"  interrupted  the  "  Corn  Bug." 
«l  Don't  ax  the  fool  nigger  any  more  questions  ;  he  don't 
know  nothin'." 

Without  replying,  the  judge  carefully  refolded  the 
paper,  placing  it  in  his  pocket.  "  I  will  study  the  docu 
ment  at  my  leisure  and  give  my  opinion  at  a  future 
time,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 


34 


CHAPTER  V 

JUDGE  ELFORD'S  DECISION 

IN  winter,  time  passes  slowly  in  the  country,  and 
especially  did  it  seem  to  linger  while  Stringtown 
was  awaiting  Judge  Elford's  report  concerning  the  "  Corn 
Bug's  "  deed.  Each  Saturday  evening  the  circle  met  and 
considered  such  subjects  as  were  of  general  interest  to  the 
community.  At  one  time  the  party  assumed  the  func 
tions  of  a  tribunal,  and  without  any  expense  whatever 
to  the  participants  a  neighbourhood  quarrel  was  amicably 
settled  by  the  judge  and  teacher.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Jones 
read  two  papers  on  semi-religious  subjects  the  same 
evening,  and  the  second  Saturday  in  November  the 
teacher  presented  a  carefully  prepared  essay  which  was 
discussed  by  the  wiseacres  of  the  circle,  and  listened  to 
by  the  other  members  and  a  few  visitors.  At  the  fol 
lowing  meeting  the  colonel  —  Colonel  Luridson  —  told 
a  story  of  adventure,  and  afterward,  by  way  of  diversion, 
the  floor  was  cleared,  and  to  the  pat  of  Jupiter  (pro 
nounced  Juba)  by  ole  Cupe,  who  always  attended  his 
master,  a  couple  of  young  "  buck  "  negroes  rendered  a 
dance.  These  Saturday  night  entertainment  parties 
drew  a  large  audience.  The  subjects  discussed  were 
not  necessarily  of  a  trivial  nature,  although  when  Mr. 
Jones  was  absent  much  light  gossip  crept  into  place. 
Art,  literature,  politics  and  even  science  were  not  neg 
lected.  We  were  country  people  of  simple  tastes,  but 

35 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

paved  streets,  bright  lights,  noise,  confusion,  the  glamour 
of  fashion  and  the  vanities  of  society  are  not  necessary 
for  intellectual  development.  Urban  surroundings  are 
not  essential  to  discipline  children  for  leadership  in  any 
walk,  educational  or  commercial.  But  enough  of  this  j 
I  must  pass  to  the  record  of  our  meeting  the  second 
Saturday  evening  in  November,  1863,  as  shown  by  the 
yellowed  stenographic  notes  of  the  grocer's  boy,  now  on 
the  desk  before  me. 

1  hat  night  the  room  contained  a  large  and  anxious 
audience,  for  it  had  become  noised  about  that  the  legal 
document  under  consideration  pretended  to  convey  to  the 
u  Corn  Bug  "  much  of  the  land  in  Stringtown  County. 
If  it  was  accepted  by  the  judge  as  genuine  and  legal,  to 
many  persons  in  that  assemblage,  who  placed  implicit 
confidence  in  his  judgment,  it  meant  the  loss  of  accumu 
lations  of  life-long  toil.  The  full  force  of  the  disaster 
that  would  come  to  the  community  in  case  the  floating 
stories  concerning  the  document  were  sustained  was 
known  to  all  ;  many  were  the  quiet  discussions  that  had 
been  held  concerning  its  final  effect.  The  lengthened 
deliberations  of  the  judge  had  indicated  that  important 
disclosures  were  to  be  made,  and  this  inference  was  sup 
ported  by  the  fact  that  under  his  direction  the  county 
surveyor  had  run  a  series  of  lines  about  the  section 
named  in  the  will,  and  had  made  careful  calculations 
concerning  it.  Hence  it  was  that  amid  perfect  silence 
Judge  Elford  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  read  from  a 
carefully  drawn  manuscript. 

u  The  paper  which  I  hold  in  my  hand  is  a  Virginia 
colonel's  military  warrant,  and  calls  for  five  thousand 
acres  of  land,  more  or  less.  The  document  is  in  good 
form  and  was  drawn  up  during  the  last  century  under 
the  laws  of  Virginia,  while  Kentucky  was  still  a  part  of 

36 


Judge  Elford's  Decision 

that  territory.     The  boundary  of  the  land  included  in 
this  survey  is  exactly  located  as  follows  : 

u  l  Beginning  at  the  great  boulder  over  Clear  Spring, 
thence  east  to  the  blazed  road  in  Fowler's  Valley,  thence 
north  to  the  fork  of  Bear's  Creek,  thence  west  to  Fow 
ler's  Valley,  thence  south  to  the  starting-point.'  Now, 
Fowler's  Valley  passes  diagonally  through  this  territory, 
and  the  description  is  otherwise  in  exact  conformity 
with  the  present  landmarks,  known  by  the  same  names. 
Since  a  line  run  by  the  county  surveyor  at  my  request 
demonstrates  that  the  land  embraced  in  this  military 
claim  covers  about  five  thousand  acres,  there  is  in  my 
mind  no  doubt  but  the  survey  is  authentic.  However, 
a  discrepancy  involving  many  acres  would  not  discredit 
the  title,  for  the  early  surveyors  of  Kentucky  made  no 
allowance  for  hills  and  valleys  or  for  unequal  surfaces, 
and,  indeed,  owing  to  the  abundance  of  land,  cared 
little  about  precision  of  survey,  taking  care  only  that 
enough  was  given.  For  example,  one  Kentucky  patent, 
cited  in  a  recent  court  decision,  which  called  for  four 
thousand  acres,  actually  embraced  over  nine  thousand 
acres ;  and  some  lands,  as  many  persons  have  found  to 
their  distress,  have  been  granted  by  patent  two  or  three 
times.  These  old  military  titles  have  always  been  a 
source  of  great  trouble  in  Kentucky,  and  purchasers  and 
settlers  have  found  themselves  continually  confronted 
with  the  fact  that  their  possessions  had  been  previously 
granted  to  others  or  were  claimed  by  others. 

"  In  order,  therefore,  to  overcome  this  confusion  and 
to  establish  clear  titles,  corrective  legislative  acts  were 
passed  from  time  to  time,  first  by  Virginia  and  subse 
quently  by  Kentucky.  In  1796  it  was  laid  down  that 
adverse  possession  of  the  land  for  a  period  of  twenty 
(20)  years  constituted  ownership  and  completed  the  title 

37 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

However,  no  blanket  law  of  this  description  can  be 
equitable,  for  in  many  cases  large  tracts  of  land  were 
actually  stolen  by  virtue  of  the  opportunity  that  the  mis 
chievous  law  created  ;  and  in  1851,  the  following  cor 
rective  act  was  passed  :  '  An  action  for  the  recovery  of 
real  property  can  only  be  brought  within  fifteen  years 
after  the  right  to  institute  it  first  accrued  to  the  plaintiff 
or  the  person  through  whom  he  claims.'  Legal  con 
tests  by  reason  of  these  surveys  and  legal  enactments 
have  probably  cost  the  landowners  of  Kentucky  more  in 
the  aggregate  than  the  entire  realty  of  the  Commonwealth 
is  worth. 

"Now,  under  the  twenty-year  possession  act  of  1796, 
the  tract  specified  by  the  warrant  under  consideration, 
were  there  no  exceptional  circumstances,  would  have 
been  outlawed  long  since  and  the  warrant  of  Colonel 
Hardman  would  have  no  value  whatever;  but  certain 
conditions  peculiar  to  this  case,  considered  in  connection 
with  the  amendment  of  1851,  render  it  questionable 
whether  a  court  of  equity  would  not  sustain  the  claim  of 
the  heir.  True,  Mr.  Hardman  has  never  held  posses 
sion  of  the  land,  but  his  dispossession  has  been  from  no 
fault  of  his  own,  and  his  father  was  in  the  same  predic 
ament.  His  grandfather,  the  old  colonel,  located  the 
land  properly,  obtained  a  military  warrant  for  it  and 
recorded  this  warrant,  as  I  find,  in  the  Virginia  Land 
Office,  where  the  fact  slumbered  unseen.  He  placed 
the  document  in  the  hand  of  an  irresponsible  party, 
instructing  him  under  certain  conditions  to  give  it  to  his 
son  at  a  certain  time.  This  was  not  done,  but,  instead, 
*he  paper  was  handed  to  another  irresponsible  party,  and 
has  now  turned  up  after  three-quarters  of  a  century. 

"The  old  colonel  could  not  foresee  the  course  the 
paper  would  take ;  the  son  knew  nothing  about  the  docu- 


Judge  Elford's  Decision 

ment,  neither  did  the  son's  son,  the  present  heir,  who 
presented  it  to  me  at  once  on  its  discovery.  The  deed 
has  not  been  neglected  by  any  responsible  party  ;  the 
inheritors,  in  ignorance  of  their  possessions,  have  lived 
constantly  on  other  possessions  that  lie  adjacent  to  part 
of  the  land  described,  while  strangers  have  profited  from 
its  use.  The  question  is,  will  the  court  dispossess  those 
who  are  now  in  possession  in  order  to  give  the  rightful 
heir  his  just  inheritance,  or  will  the  court  take  from  Mr. 
Hardman  a  property  of  which,  through  no  act  of  his 
own  and  no  intention  of  his  ancestor,  he  has  been 
deprived  these  many  years  ?  In  my  opinion,  the  land 
should  in  equity  revert  to  Mr.  Hardman,  but  we  have 
here  an  extraordinary  condition  that  can  only  be 
decided  by  the  Court  of  Appeals." 

The  judge  ceased,  and  silence  such  as  seldom  fell 
over  the  members  of  the  circle  ensued.  Perhaps  each 
man  was  waiting  for  his  neighbour  to  speak  ;  perhaps  all 
alike  realised  the  significance  of  that  momentous  power 
resting  with  the  court  of  last  resort.  Then  Mr. 
Nordman,  the  old  gentleman  from  above  Stringtown, 
arose  and  moved  toward  the  door,  but  stopping  a 
moment,  without  any  display  of  emotion,  remarked : 
"  Ther  comes  a  time,  Judge,  when  a  piece  of  cold 
iron  is  mightier  than  the  law ;  and  if  this  old  deed  takes 
in  my  land,  I  now  warn  all  within  hearing  that  I  will 
not  be  dispossessed.  My  father  and  mother  lie  in  the 
graveyard  back  of  my  house,  two  children  of  my  own 
sleep  by  their  side,  and  a  spot  under  the  willow  is 
marked  for  Mrs.  Nordman  and  myself  to  rest  in.  I  do 
not  fancy  being  buried  in  a  public  graveyard,  and  damn 
me  if  I  will  be  buried  in  another  man's  land.  When 
the  sheriff  steps  into  my  front  gate  he  must  come  armed, 
suh.  It  will  be  a  fair  fight,  and  as  I  am  getting  old  and 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

stiff,  my  hand  may  miss  its  mark,  but  if  it  does,  I  will 
sleep  under  my  own  willow-tree.  Tell  the  sheriff,  gentle 
men,  that  when  he  comes  to  dispossess  me  of  the 
property  my  father  earned,  he  must  be  ready  to  draw  a 
bead  the  minute  he  steps  inside  the  gate,  suh."  With  a 
courteous  bow  the  old  gentleman  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    DILEMMA   OF   THE   "  CORN    BUG W 

EXPRESSIVE  glances  were  cast  around  the  circle 
when  Mr.  Nordman  passed  out,  and  the  grocer 
remarked  in  an  undertone :  "  I  don't  envy  the  sheriff 
his  job  ;  the  old  man  shoots  like  a  ranger.  I  will  bet  a 
hoss  be  don't  sleep  under  the  tree."  Then  the  circle 
lapsed  into  silence.  Many  hearts  were  heavy  over  the 
Disclosures  the  judge  had  made,  and  he,  too,  felt  the 
gloom  that  settles  over  one  who,  having  economised  his 
earnings  until  the  period  of  rest  should  come  to  an 
industrious  man,  finds  the  savings  of  a  lifetime  likely  to 
be  swept  aside  by  a  penstroke.  At  last  the  "  Corn 
Bug  "  spoke : 

"  Jedge,  I  don't  adzacly  grasp  ail  the  pints  ov  yer 
speech,  but  I  believe  I  kin  see  the  drift  ov  the  thing. 
Ef  I  catch  the  idea,  this  paper  es  ginuine,  an'  nigger 
Cupe  told  the  truth.  The  land  es  mine  ?  " 

"That  is  my  present  opinion." 

"  Now  let  me  ax  a  quistion,  Jedge.  Ef  I  am  right, 
the  deed  calls  fer  five  thousan'  acres  ov  land  ? " 

"  It  does,  Mr.  Hardman." 

"The  line  begins  at  Clear  Spring  boulder,  runs  ter 
Fowler's  Valley  road,  then  ter  Bear  Creek  fork,  then 
ter  Fowler's  Valley  cross-road,  then  back  ter  the 
boulder." 

"  Yes,  so  the  survey  records." 
41 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

**  Thet  takes  in  old  man  Sawyer's  farm  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Wall,  Jedge,"  said  the  «  Corn  Bug"  thoughtfully,  « I 
hain't  much  love  fer  the  likes  ov  him.  There  hain't 
no  honest  bone  in  his  body,  an'  et  goes  without  sayin* 
thet  he  cheated  Widow  Longing  out  ov  thet  very  farm. 
Yo'  see,  Jedge,  with  all  respect  ter  the  court,  the  law 
helped  old  Sawyer  ter  steal  the  land,  an'  nobody  knows 
et  better  than  yourself,  Jedge  ;  but  yo'  need  n't  begin 
ter  apologise  now  fer  the  law's  wrongs,  yo'  would  never 
git  through.  Oh,  wall,  the  widder  died  in  the  poor- 
house,  an*  ef  I  hev  my  say,  old  Sawyer  will  trot  in  thet 
direction.  By  the  way,  Jedge,  ef  I  am  right,  this  deed 
calls  fer  the  Humses  boys'  farm  ? " 

"  Certainly;  their  farm  is  near  the  centre  of  the  plat." 

"Wall,  sense  them  fellers  got  home  from  college 
they  hain't  no  'count,  nohow.  They  holds  up  their 
heads  an'  snuffs  the  air  when  they  passes  common  folks. 
They  talks  too  highfalutin'  fer  sensible  folks,  anyway ; 
they  puts  a  mo-  on  their  'lasses  an '  a  po-  on  their 
'taters  an'  slings  on  style  like  as  though  their  grandad 
had  n't  worked  in  a  deadenin'.  This  part  of  the  world 
ain't  good  'nough  fer  sech  stuck-up  people.  Guess  I 
won't  care  ef  they  hev  ter  move  out  ov  this  section,  an* 
I  takes  et  nobody  else  will  cry  their  eyes  out.  How- 
somever,  Jedge,  how  'bout  the  village  ?  Does  the  deed 
call  fer  the  village,  Jedge  ?  " 

"Yes.  Here  is  a  rough  map  of  the  claim.  This 
crossmark  represents  Stringtown." 

"  Wall,  I  declare.  All  these  dooryard  lots  an'  back 
pastures  t  M 

"  Every  lot,  house  and  barn." 

"  Who  would  hev  thought  the  nigger  knew  so  much. 
I  '11  be  a  rich  man,  Jedge,  a  very  rich  man." 

42 


The  Dilemma  of  the  « Corn  Bug " 

The  judge  nodded  his  head. 

"  The  teacher's  lot  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  tavern  lot  ?" 

"  Yes." 

«  The  two  Miss  Ruby's  lot  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  The  widder's  ?"  queried  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  glancing 
at  me.  The  widow  was  my  mother. 

"  Yes." 

«  Yer  own  lot,  Jedge  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Gewhillikins  !     And  the  graveyard  ?  " 

"  The  graveyard,  too,  but  not  the  tombstones." 

"Tombstones,  Jedge,  ain't  fit  fer  nothin'  but  side 
walks  ;  those  who  wants  'em  kin  take  'em  off  my  ground. 
Wall,  I  '11  be  a  rich  man,  Jedge ;  I  kin  eat  what  I  wants 
ter,  I  kin  drink  what  I  wants  ter." 

The  judge  smiled  and  a  forced  laugh  went  around  the 
circle. 

"Jedge,  I  don't  want  the  two  Miss  Ruby's  lot. 
These  girls  I  hev  known  sense  they  were  tots.  They 
speak  sof'ly  ter  me,  Jedge,  an'  et  kinder  makes  me 
ashamed  ov  myself — when  I  drinks  too  much  I  don't 
like  ter  meet  'em  then.  Yo'  see,  Jedge,  I  sometimes 
drinks  too  much." 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

"  Wall,  et  don't  matter,  I  won't  hev  thet  lot.  Neither 
does  I  want  the  widder's  property.  Sammy,"  he  called, 
"  come  here,  Bub."  I  obeyed,  and  he  placed  his  hand 
on  my  head  and  stood  looking  me  in  the  face. 

"  Does  yo'  'member  the  day  when  three  boys  found 
me  layin'  in  the  briar  patch  in  the  back  paster  ?  Does 
yo'  know  thet  the  other  brats  mawked  an'  called  me 

43 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

names,  never  mind  what —  I  kin  'member  'em  ef  I  was 
in  my  cups  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

u  Does  yo'  recollect  thet  yo'  brushed  the  flies  off  my 
face  an*  put  my  hat  over  my  eyes  an*  spread  yer  hand 
kerchief  over  thet,  an'  then  went  fer  Cupe  ?  " 

I  hung  my  head,  but  my  silence  plainly  admitted  the 
truth  of  what  he  said. 

"  Go  back  ter  yer  seat,  child,  go  back.  Jedge,"  he 
continued,  u  I  gives  thet  boy  two  thousan'  dollars  ter 
eddycate  himself  with.  He  hain't  strong  'nough  ter 
work  an'  he  must  larn  how  ter  skin  workin'  folks  ef  he 
lives  'spectable.  Make  a  lawyer,  a  doctor,  er  druggist, 
Sonny.  Remember,  Jedge,  when  I  dies  this  boy  es  ter 
hev  two  thousan'  dollars  in  gold  an'  the  little  girl  at  my 
house  es  ter  hev  my  land  an'  all  the  rest.  I  adopt  thet 
girl,  Jedge.  Cupe  the  nigger  knows  whare  the  money 
is,  Jedge.  I  hev  seen  a  few  ov  the  gold  pieces,  but 
hev  n't  teched  et,  an'  yo'  must  give  et  es  I  says.  I  war 
drunk  once,  Jedge,  an'  more  than  once,  but  I  ain't  drunk 
now.  Yo'  see,  Jedge,  every  drunk  man  ain't  dead  er  a 
fool,  no  more  than  every  dead  man  er  fool  air  drunk." 

"  Better  make  your  will  in  writing  if  you  want  it  to  be 
legal,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Now,  Jedge,"  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  continued,  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  the  remark,  "  the  teacher  hev  done  a  pile 
of  good  hereabouts.  Ef  I  had  known  what  war  best  fer 
me  an*  lis'n'd  ter  Cupe  I  would  hev  been  eddycated  too, 
but  thare  ain't  no  use  in  all  ov  us  tryin'  ter  be  smart. 
Thare  must  be  some  gentlemen  an*  some  workingmen  in 
the  world,  thare  must  be  some  eddycated  people,  an* 
some  who  don't  know  nothin'.  Et  am't  the  man  who 
knows  the  most  who  air  happiest,  an*  et  ain't  the  man 
who  hev  done  the  most  good  who  gits  the  soft  seats  tcf 

44 


The  Dilemma  of  the  "Corn  Bug" 

rest  in.  I  hev  n't  done  nothin'  fer  nobody,  an*  I  don't  de~ 
sarve  nothin'  from  nobody,  an'  here  I  finds  a  loose  plan 
tation.  The  teacher  hev  taught  a  pile  of  larnin'  ter 
others  an'  made  lots  ov  folks  rich  who  hev  used  his  larn 
in',  an'  he  hain't  got  nothin'  but  a  house  an'  lot ;  an'  ef 
these  law  fellers  in  Frankfort,  who  don't  care  a  damn  fer 
either  ov  us,  says  so,  he's  ter  be  kicked  out  an*  I'  m  ter 
git  the  lot.  I  don't  want  his  lot  though,  an'  I  won't  hev 
his  lot,  an'  I  don't  want  yer  lot,  Jedge,  either.  But  the 
tavern,  Jedge,  the  tavern." 

"Well?" 

u  Thet  's  the  place  fer  me,  fellers.  I  never  b'l'eved 
thet  I  could  git  a  chance  ter  live  in  a  tavern ;  thet's  the 
next  thing  ter  flyin'  through  Heaven,  Jedge.  Howsom- 
ever,  thare  es  somethin'  ter  say  on  t'  other  side  ov  every 
quistion.  Ef  I  gits  rich  an'  lives  in  a  tavern  then  I  kin 
git  all  the  licker  I  wants.  Ef  I  gits  all  the  licker  I  wants, 
I  will  drink  so  much  licker  I  won't  hev  sense  'nough 
ter  know  when  I  wants  licker.  Ef  I  don't  know  nothin' 
an'  I  won't  ef  I  lives  in  a  tavern,  I  can't  want  any  more 
licker,  an'  I  would  es  soon  be  dead  es  not  ter  want 
licker.  This  air  a  tough  quistion,  Jedge,  fer  sech  a  feller 
as  I  am  ter  conumdrate. 

"  Now,  es  ter  the  graveyard.  What  good  will  a 
graveyard  do  me  ?  I  hev  stood  with  my  hat  off  in  thet 
graveyard  in  winter  an'  in  summer  watchin'  buryin's.  I 
hev  seen  mothers  cry  over  their  babies  an'  hev  seen 
children  kneel  'round  the  graves  ov  their  mothers.  I 
hev  a  graveyard  ov  my  own  behind  the  cabin,  an'  thet's 
'nough  for  me.  I  never  wants  ter  own  a  public  grave 
yard.  It  es  hard  'nough,  Jedge,  ter  hear  people  sobbin* 
on  their  own  property,  an'  ef  I  should  own  thet  town 
graveyard  I  would  feel  es  though  all  those  cryin's  ov  or 
phans  an'  sobbin's  ov  mothers  were  'round  me.  I'd 

45  , 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

dream  'bout  'em  in  the  night,  an*  I  'd  be  afeard  ter  even 
drink  'nough  ter  git  happy  dreams,  fer  a  man  who  has 
licker-dreams  air  very  sensitive  an'  must  hev  a  clear  con 
science.  He  muss  n't  hev  any  devilment  in  his  mind  ef 
he  air  in  his  cups,  else  he  dreams  ov  snakes  an'  sech. 
Besides,  Jedge,  I  kinder  don't  know  'bout  the  vartue  ov 
the  law  when  et  comes  ter  the  graveyard  case.  Ef  a 
person  don't  own  the  six  feet  ov  ground  he  lies  in,  what 
does  he  own  ?  Et  don't  seem  es  ef  the  Lord  would 
bring  men  an'  women  inter  the  world  an'  grow  'em  ter 
full  size  without  givin'  'em  land  'nough  ter  hold  their 
bones.  I  kinder  feels  thet  et  air  a  farce  fer  a  feller  with 
five  thousan'  acres  ov  land  growin'  up  in  briars  an'  per 
simmons  ter  say  he  owns  the  six  feet  ov  ground  his  dead 
neighbour  lies  in  an'  who  don't  want  no  more  than  six 
by  two.  Guess,  Jedge,  the  lawyers  kin  keep  the  grave 
yard  fer  their  fee ;  they  won't  give  me  all  this  land  fer 
nothin' ;  they  hev  n't  no  feelin's  neither,  an'  won't  care 
ef  the  graveyard  their  neighbours  rest  in  es  ploughed  up. 
"  Jedge,  I  ain't  talkin'  altogether  ter  yo'  now,  but  am 
arguin'  ter  myself  es  well.  Yo'  see,  Jedge,  while  I 
don't  cast  no  reflections  at  nobody,  still  I  likes  ter  talk 
ter  myself.  Thare  ain't  no  harm  in  thet.  Old  Squire 
Slickum  always  talked  out  loud  ter  himself,  an'  he  wa'n't 
no  fool  either.  One  time  I  asked  him  what  he  did  it 
fer.  Yo'  see,  Jedge,  I  am  given  ter  the  same  habit,  an* 
I  kinder  wanted  ter  git  an  argument  ready  in  case  some 
fly-up  the-creek  person  asked  me  consarning  the  sar- 
cumstance.  The  Squire  said  thet  he  talked  ter  himself 
fer  three  reasons.  First,  he  liked  ter  talk  ter  a  smart 
man,  an*  second,  he  liked  ter  hear  £  smart  man  talk.  I 
hev  forgotten  the  other  reason,  but  et  don't  make  no 
difference.  You -all  won't  take  no  offence  at  my 
excuse,  an*  I  only  asks  yo'  ter  'member  thet  I  tells  this 


The   Dilemma  of  the  "Corn  Bug'' 

story  es 1  an  excuse,  fer  et  air  dangerous  ter  say  out  loud 
ter  others  what  one  thinks  ov  lawyers.  A  man  air 
never  sure  ov  keepin'  out  ov  their  clutches.  They  air 
after  everybody.  Ef  a  fellow  hain't  got  nothin',  he 
wants  what  some  other  feller  has  got,  an'  pays  a  lawyer 
ter  help  him  git  it,  an'  the  lawyer  never  renigs.  Ef  he 
has  got  something  he  has  ter  hire  a  lawyer  ter  help  him 
keep  et.  Et  air  funny,  Jedge,  ain't  et,  thare  air  only 
one  sure  winner,  an'  thet  air  the  lawyer.  I  am  talkin' 
at  random  ter  myself,  Jedge,  an'  don't  mean  nothin' 
personal." 

"  I  know  that  you  do  not  reflect  on  me,"  replied 
Judge  Elford,  "  and  I  am  aware  that  many  attorneys  do 
disreputable  things  in  the  name  of  the  law.  However, 
Mr.  Hardman,  were  it  not  for  the  law,  honest  men 
would  be  the  prey  of  designers.  Take  this  case  of  your 
own  as  an  example ,-  in  my  opinion,  the  Court  of  Ap 
peals  will  dispossess  me,  a  man  of  law,  of  my  life  sav 
ings,  and,  were  I  on  the  bench,  and  your  case  before 
me,  no  self-interest  would  influence  in  the  least  my  de 
cision." 

"  I  ax  yer  pardon,  Jedge,"  said  Hardman,  u  I  war 
talkin'  at  random.  I  war  not  thinkin'  ov  the  good  yo' 
lawyers  do,  but  ov  the  bad.  I  sometimes  fergits  the 
good  things  what  happens,  but  hangs  onter  the  other 
side,  an'  thet  air  the  fault  ov  other  people  es  well  es 
myself." 

1  Pronounce  the  s  as  *. 


47 


CHAPTER   VII 


THE  "  Corn  Bug  "  paused  for  a  moment,  and  went 
on   with   his   rambling  talk,  which    none  present 
cared  to  interrupt,  knowing  that  he  had  some  object  in 
view  that  could  only  be  discovered  by  allowing  him  to 
finish  in  his  own  way. 

"  Ef  thet  air  deed  air  legal  I  will  be  a  very  rich  man, 
maybe  too  rich.  Somehow,  pVaps  et  air  possible  fer  a 
feller  ter  be  too  rich.  But  ter  the  pint  ;  ef  this  paper 
(holding  up  the  deed)  is  correct,  Jedge,  I  will  become  a 
landlord  an'  own  all  this  corner  ov  the  country  ?  " 

"  The  law  allows  it." 

"  Every  lot  in  the  village  ?  " 

u  Unquestionably." 

u  Every  farm  inside  these  lines  ?  " 

u  Every  wood,  field,  orchard,  and  garden." 

u  JC(lge,  a^  these  people  will  have  ter  pay  me  rent  ?  " 

"  Yes,  or  you  can  expel  them." 

u  Widders,  orphans,  storekeepers,  tavern-keepers, 
school  teachers,  preachers,  poor  people,  rich  people  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  won't  hev  ter  work.  I  kin  just  put  my  hand  in 
my  pocket  an'  take  out  a  dollar  when  I  wants  ter  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  looks  that  way." 

"  Now,  Jedge,  what  right  hev  I  ter  this  land  ?  What 
hev  I  done  thet  et  should  b'long  ter  me  ?  " 

48 


"The  Best  of  the  Devil,  &c." 

"  The  law  will  give  it  to  you  if  the  Court  of  Appeals 
so  decides." 

"  Jedge,  I  hain't  done  nothin'  on  the  tract,  an'  these 
other  people  hev  cleared  the  land,  burned  the  brush  an' 
ploughed  up  the  roots.  Mr.  Nordman  told  the  truth,  et 
ain't  mine,  law  er  no  law." 

"  The  deed  of  your  grandfather  carries  the  land  to  his 
heirs." 

"  Wall,  pYaps  yer  law  is  powerful  'nough  ter  make 
et  right,  but  et  seems  es  ef  et  helps  steal.  I  guess, 
though,  I  ain't  ter  blame  fer  the  law's  mistakes,  an'  ef 
the  land  es  mine,  why  ov  course  I  must  obey  the  law. 

"  Lord,  folks,  but  I  kin  live  high.  P'r'aps  et  ain't 
best  to  live  too  high  either.  Sometimes  now  I  lives  too 
high  an'  sings  too  loud  an'  talks  too  much.  Guess  I  hev 
talked  too  much  ter-night.  Ef  I  hev  my  pocket  always 
full  ov  money,  Jedge,  won't  I  treat  the  crowd  an'  won't 
I  punish  the  eggnog  !  I'll  be  rich,  awful  rich.  I'll 
hire  a  clerk  ter  collect  rents  ;  I  '11  sit  in  an  office  an* 
count  money.  Et  must  be  awful  satisfyin'  an'  elevatin' 
ter  count  money  all  day.  I  '11  wear  store  clothes  on 
week  days  an'  eat  sardines,  an'  drink  mint  julips  every 
day  in  the  summer,  an'  eat  oysters  an'  drink  eggnog  every 
day  in  the  winter.  I  '11  build  my  office  next  ter  the  tavern. 
This  paper  hev  raised  my  calculations  high,  an'  I  hev 
kinder  been  arguin'  an'  enjoyin'  myself  out  loud.  Thare 
air  two  sides  ter  every  quistion  though,  es  you  hev  said 
more  than  once,  an'  I  bed  better  look  a  minute  at  the 
other  side. 

"  Jedge)  I  nev  lived  in  this  neighbourhood  fifty  years 
comin'  next  January.  I  hev  worked  on  week  days  an' 
rested  on  Sundays,  an'  hev  lived  es  well  as  I  desarved 
ter  do.  I  wears  warm  jeans  clothes  an'  I  never  suffers 
with  heat  er  cold,  lessen  I  am  in  my  cups  an'  lays  out. 
4  49 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

You-uns  all  earned  yer  homes  an'  farms  an*  yo'  owns 
'em,  law  er  no  law.  I  don't  want  ter  throw  any  ov 
you-uns  out  ov  the  homes  yo'  hev  saved,  an',  Jedge,  yo' 
know  thet  the  city  man  who  once  threw  the  widder  an* 
childern  inter  the  snow  said  thet  rich  men  air  ter  be 
pitied  fer  they  hev  ter  make  rules  they  don't  like  thet 
bears  hard  on  some  people.  One  ov  the  first  ter  go 
would  be  the  Widder  Drew.  She  can't  pay  no  rent ; 
an'  the  next  would  be  the  orphan  Ruby  girls,  they  hain't 
got  no  money.  I  know  a  good  many  other  people  in 
the  village  who  can't  pay  no  rent  —  the  Lord  only  knows 
how  village  people  do  make  a  livin',  an'  rich  men  like  I 
am  goin'  ter  be  can't  make  no  'lowances.  Either  pay  up 
er  git  out.  Take  yer  house  off  the  lot.  The  flesh  is 
weak,  Jedge,  an'  I  am  afeard  ef  this  deed  turns  out  ter 
be  good,  I  will  make  rich  man's  rules  first,  an'  shake 
han's  with  the  law  second,  an'  go  ter  the  devil  third. 
My  conscience  will  be  ruined,  Jedge  ;  the  flesh  es  pow 
erful  weak.  I  don't  do  nobody  no  harm  now  ;  I  works 
an'  sleeps  an'  eats  an'  drinks  an'  hev  a  clear  conscience. 
I  eats  what  I  wants  when  I  kin  git  it,  an'  pays  fer  what 
I  drinks,  an'  am  happy,  an'  ain't  carin'  fer  nothin'  ner 
nobody. 

"  An'  this  here  paper,"  holding  up  the  deed,  "  is  the 
dockyment  what  makes  you-uns  all  this  trouble,  Jedge  ?  " 

"  You  understand  its  import." 

«  An'  makes  me  rich  ?  " 

"  The  richest  man  in  the  county." 

"  Ain't  thare  no  copy  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Comreds,  et  would  be  pow'ful  fine  fer  a  feller  like 
me  ter  wear  store  clothes  week  days,  an'  eat  sardines  an' 
oysters  when  I  wants  'em,  an'  drink  eggnog  all  the 
winter  and  julips  all  the  summer.  Et  would  be  glorious 

50 


"The  Best  of  the  Devil,  8cc." 

ter  git  even  with  them  Sawyers  an'  Humses  an*  a  few 
other  skinflints  an'  stuck-ups.  But  I  can't  afford  no 
disgrace  ter  my  conscience.  I  don't  want  ter  turn  wid- 
ders  an'  orphans  out  ov  their  homes ;  I  can't  take  rent 
money  fer  Ian'  I  did  n't  earn,  an'  yet  et  's  an  awful 
temptation  ter  the  likes  ov  me." 

He  opened  the  deed,  looked  at  the  red  seal,  carefully 
folded  it  and  tied  it  again,  stroked  it  lovingly,  half  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket,  turned  toward  the  door,  then  recon 
sidered,  came  back  and  drew  the  document  out  again. 
"  Et  air  an  awful  temptation,  Jedge,  ter  the  likes  ov  me. 
I  tastes  the  eggnog  now  an'  smells  the  julips."  Then 
he  stood  meditatingly  and  silent. 

"  Jedge,"  said  Mr.  Hardman,  at  last,  "  I  hev  got  the 
best  ov  the  devil  an'  the  law  too,  an'  you-all  kin  go 
home  an'  sleep.  The  village  ain't  mine,  law  er  no  law, 
an'  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  help  the  law  steal.  I  gits  drunk 
with  my  own  money,  which  ain't  no  harm  ter  the  likes 
ov  rne  an'  don't  hurt  no  other  feller  ner  the  Lord  either, 
but  I  never  intends  ter  buy  nothin'  fer  myself  with  the 
money  I  've  squeezed  out  ov  widders  an'  orphans,  an'  I 
don't  intend  ter  let  the  law  make  me  a  thief  first  an'  a 
wretch  second.  Folks,  I  hev  downed  the  devil,  an'  the 
law,  which  taken  together  air  mighty  hard  fer  a  man  ter 
do.  I  don't  intend  ter  hev  no  fam'ly  disgrace,  an'  I 
don't  intend  ter  steal  nothin'.  Fellers,  old  man  Nord- 
man  won't  hev  ter  shoot  the  sheriff." 

He  opened  the  stove  door  and  thrust  the  dry  docu 
ment  into  the  blaze.  A  flash  as  of  tinder,  a  puff,  a 
twisting,  blackening  paper,  and  then  —  ashes.  Those 
about  drew  back  in  amazement. 

"Yer  kin  go  home  an'  sleep,  folks,"  said  the  Corn 
Bug  turning  from  the  stove,  "  thare  ain't  no  copy  ter 
disturb  you-all,  an'  thare  ain't  no  tavern,  sardines,  eggnog 

5* 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

an'  julips  fer  the  likes  ov  me.  Come,  Cupe,  come,  we 
don't  live  in  the  hotel  no  more ;  it  air  gittin'  late,  it  air 
rainin',  an'  the  mud  air  deep  b'twixt  here  an'  the  cabin." 
The  "  Corn  Bug"  opened  the  door,  and  together  with 
M  Cupe  stalked  out  into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    STORY    OF    THE    COLONEL 

NEW  Year's  Eve,  1863,  had  been  set  apart  by 
the  Village  Circle  as  a  special  holiday,  the  inten 
tion  of  the  members  being  "  to  see  the  old  year  out " 
and  listen  to  the  reading  of  a  special  paper  by  the  pastor, 
Mr.  Jones,  which  was  to  be  replied  to  by  Colonel  Lu- 
ridson.  The  "  Corn  Bug "  had  "  taken  sick,"  as  the 
doctor  expressed  it,  the  morning  after  the  meeting  men 
tioned  in  the  preceding  chapter,  and  his  illness  proved 
to  be  serious.  Too  obstinate  to  care  for  himself,  the 
eccentric  fellow  neglected  medical  aid,  and  acute  pneu 
monia,  a  common  fatality  in  many  parts  of  Kentucky, 
had  followed,  quickly  succeeding  an  ordinary  cold. 

Thursday,  December  31,  1863,  dawned  warm  and 
sultry.  The  thermometer  registered  seventy  that  morn 
ing,  and  about  noon  a  heavy  mist  settled  over  hill 
and  valley.  This  was  followed  in  the  afternoon  by  a 
drizzling  rain  that  sifted  down  in  fine  particles,  which 
sopped  the  grass  and  stuck  together  the  pendent  dead 
leaves  always  clinging,  during  soft  weather  in  mid-winter, 
to  the  lower  beech  limbs. 

In  the  evening  the  members  of  the  Stringtown  Circle 
met  according  to  expectation,  but  owing  to  the  storm 
many  of  them  were  detained  and  straggled  to  their 
places.  The  "  Corn  Bug  "  alone  was  finally  absent :  as 
has  been  said,  he  lay  dangerously  ill  in  his  humble  cabin. 
The  grocer's  boy  sat,  as  usual,  behind  the  counter,  ready 

53 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

to  take  notes  in  shorthand  on  a  quire  of  white  paper 
such  as  is  used  for  wrapping  tea,  and  I  sat  on  a  stool 
beneath  the  hanging  lamp,  just  back  of  the  favored 
members  of  the  Circle.  Silence  fell  upon  the  persons 
who  first  presented  themselves :  a  shadow  seemed  to 
hang  over  the  Circle. 

The  reserve  was  finally  broken  by  Chinney  Bill 
Smith,  a  bearded  man,  who  vowed  when  Fort  Sumter 
was  bombarded,  never  to  cut  his  hair  or  whiskers  until 
the  South  was  free.  This  man  regaled  the  Circle  by 
relating  the  story  of  "  the  mother  of  Sam  Hill's  wife's 
sister,"  the  story  teller  being  typical  of  more  than  one 
person  well  known  and  popular  in  the  commonwealth  of 
Kentucky.1 

From  the  humorous  sketch  of  Chinney  Bill  Smith  it 
was  apparently  a  long  step  to  the  dissertation  which  fol 
lowed,  an  essay  on  storms,  delivered  by  Prof.  Drake. 
Yet  it  was  characteristic  of  the  Circle  that  it  could  pass 
with  relish  from  one  extreme  to  the  other. 

At  the  conclusion  of  Professor  Drake's  essay,  the 
evening  being  not  very  far  advanced,  Judge  Elford 
addressed  Mr.  Jones. 

"  Pastor,  it  is  your  turn  now.  Let  us  have  your 
promised  essay  on  Death,  to  be  answered  by  Colonel 
Luridson." 

The  pastor  arose,  threw  his  long  hair  back  from  his 
forehead  and  mildly  remarked :  "  Before  beginning  to 
read  I  will  say  that  the  title  does  not  always  clearly 
define  the  contents  of  a  book  ;  and  while  my  paper  deals 
with  the  subject  of  death,  its  caption  is  '  The  Life 
Line.' '  Then  in  a  slow,  deliberate  tone,  quite  in  con- 

1  This  story  was  a  monstrous  exaggeration,  quite  humorous  and 
yet  threaded  with  satire  and  irony.  Although  a  welcome  diversion 
in  its  place  the  author  believes  it  better  to  exclude  it  from  this  book. 

54 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

trast  to  that  of  bald,  spectacled  Prof.  Drake,  the  essayist 
read  on  uninterrupted  and  without  pause  until  he  reached 
the  closing  sentence  :  — 

u  Let  us  think,  then,  of  the  end  point  of  this  drama. 
Since  none  can  foresee  just  when  the  tread  on  the  life 
line  will  falter,  let  us  accept  that  it  matters  little  whether 
in  the  morning  or  the  evening  it  be  that  we  take  the 
awful  plunge.  To-day,  never  to-morrow,  loosens  our 
hold  of  earthly  problems." 

Then  raising  his  eyes  from  the  paper,  he  glanced  first 
at  Judge  Elford,  who,  immovable,  made  no  response, 
then  at  Prof.  Drake,  who,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands, 
gazed  intently  on  the  floor.  Then  his  questioning  look 
passed  without  response  successively  around  the  circle, 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  finally  rested  again  on  the 
face  of  the  colonel,  whose  part  it  was  to  answer  the 
essay.  Standing  alone,  gazing  intently  at  the  upright 
colonel,  the  parson  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest  and 
deliberately  said,  looking  directly  into  Luridson's  eyes  : 
"  Do  you  know,  my  friend,  you  who  are  to  reply  to  this 
essay,  do  you  know  when  you  or  I  will  loosen  our  hold 
on  the  life-line  ?  Are  you  prepared  for  the  end  of  the 
game  of  life  ?  " 

What  play  of  thought  sped  from  man  to  man  as  the 
eyes  of  these  two  met  cannot  be  told  in  words,  but  could 
be  felt  by  those  who  caught  the  meeting  of  those  eyes. 
'T  is  not  when  steel  meets  steel,  nor  when  flint  meets 
flint  that  the  fire  flies,  but  when  steel  meets  flint.  Per 
haps  none  present  realized  that  such  opposites  were  face 
to  face. 

For  a  second  neither  moved.  The  parson  held  the 
unfinished  essay  in  his  hand,  while  the  colone)  stoically 
chewed  his  quid  of  tobacco,  apparently  indifferent  to 
surroundings.  Suddenly  the  latter,  looking  the  tranquil 

55 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

parson  in  the  eye  replied  as  if  impelled  by  a  menta\ 
question  exacted  from  him  by  his  opponent  : 

"  You  can  put  your  paper  away,  Mr.  Jones,"  he  said. 
u  I  have  heard  enough  and  am  ready  to  say  my  speech. 
Pahson,  no  preacher  ever  told  the  truth  bettah  than  you 
have  told  it.  I  look  fierce,  they  tell  me,  Mr.  Jones,  but 
I  am  very  tendah  hearted.  I  would  n't  cause  a  shivah  of 
pain  to  man,  woman,  or  child,  and  I  would  n't  hahm 
even  a  snail.  You  use  words  too  big  for  me ;  i  can't 
answer  you  aftah  the  same  style,  but,  as  old  General 
Haydon,  of  Virginia,  used  to  say :  '  It  don't  mattah 
much  about  the  grammah  so  we  get  the  sense.'  I 
reckon,  Mr.  Jones,  that  I  kin  tell  a  story  about  as  well 
as  you  kin,  but  I  can't  talk  in  a  general  way  as  you  do 
about  unseen  things.  I  must  relate  something  about 
what  my  eyes  have  looked  at ;  I  can't  sling  in  high- 
toned  words  either  :  but  if  any  man  undertakes  to  beat 
me  in  stating  plain  facts  'bout  what  he  knows,  you  kin 
bet,  suh,  he  has  got  to  speak  straight.  Folks  can  undah- 
stand  Richard  Luridson  without  a  dictionary. 

u  I  agree  with  you,  Reverend,  when  you  say  that  no 
fellah  knows  just  when  he  is  going  to  hand  in  his  tickets, 
and  to  all  of  us  the  thought  of  death  is  damnably  un 
pleasant.  My  heart  is  tendah,  I  '11  swear  to  it  gentle 
men ;  I  ain't  to  blame  if  my  beard  is  stiff.  The  heart 
of  a  hard-shelled  turtle  is  as  soft  to  the  touch  as  that  of 
a  mouse,  sub.  Once  when  I  shot  a  wild  pigeon,  an 
innocent  little  bird,  and  picked  the  creature  up,  it  turned 
its  little  head  towards  me  and  looked  me  in  the  eye. 
What  cause  had  I  to  take  that  small  life  ?  a  life  sacri 
ficed  for  a  mouthful  of  black  meat  ?  Pahson,  you  may 
believe  me  or  not,  but  that  was  a  cruelty  my  tendah 
heart  throbs  over  vet.  But  I  ain't  a  coward,  Mr.  Jones ; 
there  is  a  distinction  between  brutality  and  bravery,  and 

56 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

when  it  comes  to  a  fight  I  am  always  on  hand.  I  have 
seen  pious-like  men  of  the  church,  more  cruel  than  I 
am.  I  have  known  deacons  who  kneel  in  the  '  Amen  ' 
corner,  hunt  all  day  Saturday  with  a  gun,  seeking  a  covey 
of  harmless  quail,  and  shoot  them  down  like  flies,  —  take 
the  lives  of  these  helpless  creatures  that  nevah  insulted 
any  man ;  and  the  next  Sahbath  these  same  pious  fellahs 
sit  in  church  trying  to  look  like  angels  while  the  preacher 
reads  out  of  the  Good  Book, '  Thou  shalt  not  kill ! '  I  am 
a  consistent  man,  Judge,"  continued  the  colonel,  "  I  don't 
pertend  to  be  religious,  but  I  do  claim  that  I  am  con 
sistent  ;  and  while  my  heart  is  very  tendah,  as  1  have 
admitted,  yet  no  man  dare  insult  me." 

"  While  you  were  reading  your  sober  rigmarole, 
Pahson,  I  wan  thinking  off  and  on  of  a  case  in  which  I 
wah  consarned  in  ole  Virginia,  and  jest  when  you  stopped 
and  looked  up  I  had  reached  the  p'int  where  I  seized  the 
gullet  of  the  critter  \  and  as  you  lowered  the  papah  and 
looked  me  in  the  eye,  it  seemed  as  though  that  same 
young  fellow's  face  rose  up  befoah  me.  But  pshaw ! 
what 's  the  use  of  thinking  about  things  that  hev  passed 
away  ?  That  fellow  brought  his  punishment  on  his 
own  head." 

The  colonel  lapsed  into  silence  and  stared  at  the  stove. 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it,  or  let  Mr.  Jones  finish  his 
essay,"  requested  the  clerk.  "  Go  on  with  your  story," 
urged  a  chorus  of  voices.  u  I  relinquish  the  field  and 
beg  you  to  oblige  us,"  added  the  parson,  in  a  slightly 
ironical  tone. 

"Wall,  since  that  day  I  hev  n't  talked  about  the 
episode,  fer,  as  I  hev  already  told  you,  there  ain't  no  use 
in  worrying  over  the  troubles  of  another  fellah,  especially 
if  the  other  fellah  is  dead,  and  it  don  't  do  no  good, 
either,  to  think  about  the  mistakes  that  other  people  hev 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

made,  and  that  there  fellah  made  the  mistake  of  his  life 
then  and  there.  The  blunders  of  dead  people  should  be 
fergotten." 

Again  the  speaker  paused.  The  eyes  of  the  judge 
and  the  teacher  were  fastened  inquiringly  upon  the  par 
son,  who  now  seemed  out  of  place,  yet  preternaturally 
calm.  "  Continue  your  narrative,  Colonel  Luridson,  " 
he  said  coldly ;  "  you  have  said  that  you  are  not  a 
coward." 

"  I  hev  kindah  gloomy  feelings  to-night  and  can  't  tell 
a  story  quite  as  well  as  I  should,"  resumed  Luridson, 
casting  a  black  look  at  the  parson.  u  Once,  ovah  in  ole 
Virginia,  I  wah  walking  along  a  meadow  path  smoking  a 
cigar,  thinking  of  nothin',  as  most  people  do  when  they 
are  smoking,  when  suddenly  I  stopped  just  as  I  was 
about  to  step  on  a  great  black  snake  stretched  in  the 
walk.  I  raised  my  heel  and  stamped  the  head  of  that 
sarpent  into  the  earth.  I  am  sech  a  soft-hearted  fool, 
that  I  can't  look  back  at  that  display  of  brutality  with 
out  shuddering.  Not  fer  the  snake ;  no,  I  hev  killed 
hundreds  of  sech  varmints,  but  fer  a  little  baby  snake 
that  I  then  saw  stretched  beside  the  mothah  —  a  little 
innocent  snake  not  longah  than  a  pencil.  That  night 
there  was  a  rain-storm,  and  I  '11  swear,  gentlemen,  that 
1  lay  awake  an  hour  thinking  of  the  poor  critter  perish 
ing.  I  am  a  very  tendah-hearted  man  and  am  not  to 
blame  if  my  cheek  is  rough." 

Evidently  the  vain  braggart  was  loth  to  describe  the 
event  of  u  honour  "  that  he  had  unwittingly  introduced. 

"  The  story,  please,"  quietly  insisted  the  parson. 

"  Wall,  it  is  not  much  of  a  story,  aftah  all,  and  I  kin 
give  it  in  a  few  words.  I  s'pose  you  admit,  Pahson, 
that  back  in  ole  Virginia  there  is  more  honah  among 
gentlemen  than  there  is  in  other  places,  and  begging 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

pahdon  of  the  persons  present,  more  gentlemen  to  the 
acre.  It  don't  require  book  learning  in  ole  Virginia  to 
make  a  gentleman,  neithah  does  book  learning  make  a 
gentleman  anywhere,  'though,  as  a  rule,  it  does  no  harm; 
but,  as  you  know,  ole  Virginia  turns  out  gentlemen  of 
both  kinds,  gentlemen  bohn  and  gentlemen  learned.  I 
b'long  to  the  first  class  of  gents,  which,  begging  pahdon 
of  some  of  the  persons  present,  I  considah  the  highah 
class." 

"  The  under  class,"  remarked  the  parson  drily, u  know 
something  about  your  type  of  gentlemen.  But  we  are 
all  impatient  to  hear  your  l  episode,'  as  you  call  it.  We 
know  you  are  a  gentleman,  but  are  waiting  for  the 
story." 

u  Wall,  suh,  a  gentleman  of  old  Virginia,  of  the  first 
class  can't  be  insulted.  If  a  fellah  attempts  to  insult 
him,  either  the  fellah  dies  or  the  gentleman  dies.  In 
cither  case  no  dirt  sticks  to  the  gentleman,  fer  his  boots 
air  on.  You  see,  pahson,  there  is  another  phase  of  the 
mattah  when  it  comes  to  the  question  of  honah,  a  phase 
that  common  people,  low-bohn  people,  cannot  raise 
themselves  into.  The  highah  strung  the  gentleman,  the 
easiah  it  is  to  affect  his  honah,  and  to  a  high-strung  man 
the  smallah  the  reflection  the  greatah  is  the  insult.  Only 
persons  of  the  highah  order  can  comprehend  this  fact. 
Now,  up  North,"  and  Luridson  turned  directly  upon 
Mr.  Jones,  "  where  the  finah  qualities  do  not  appeah, 
where  a  gentleman  is  nevah  bohn  a  gentleman,  insults 
air  taken  that  in  ole  Virginia  would  be  remembered  to 
the  third  generation.  Colonel  Clough  of  my  county 
killed  the  grandson  of  the  man  who  insulted  his  grand- 
fathah.  Not  that  the  colonel's  grandfather  did  not  kill 
his  man  (fer  he  did),  not  that  the  colonel's  father  did  not 
kill  the  man's  son  (fer  he  did),  not  that  the  son  of  the 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

man  the  colonel's  father  killed  had  done  anything  per 
sonally  to  injure  the  colonel  (fer  he  had  not),  but  because 
every  killing  of  that  family  done  by  his  descendants 
raised  the  honah  of  the  ole  colonel.  There  hev  been 
twelve  men  shot  with  their  boots  on  by  the  descendants 
of  Colonel  Clough,  and  I  saw  four  of  'em  bite  the  dust. 
You  bet  that  family  proposes  to  keep  untarnished  the 
honah  of  the  great  colonel." 

Once  more  the  equivocating  speaker  faltered,  and 
once  more  Mr.  Jones,  as  though  determined  to  compel 
the  delivery  of  the  promised  narrative,  said  in  a  low, 
insistent  voice : 

"  Your  own  story,  colonel,  your  own  story." 
"Wall,  it  ain't  a  long  story,  and  it  ain't  the  only 
episode  of  the  kind  I  hev  experienced.  I  can  't  see  why 
I  think  of  this  one  jest  now,  either,  fer  I  hev  been  en 
gaged  in  others  more  exciting,  but  you  seem  to  drive  me 
to  it.  There  wah,  fer  example,  jest  aftah  I  became  of 
age,  a  disturbing  character  in  our  parts  who  went  around 
insulting  persons  generally  by  asking  questions  about 
their  affairs,  but  he  knew  well  enough  who  not  to  insult. 
He  nevah  but  once  touched  one  of  the  bohn  gentlemen 
of  our  county,  and  nevah  again  did  his  tongue  wag 
about  any  one.  This  is  how  it  wah ;  one  day  he  met 
one  of  our  niggahs,  and  in  an  impudent  sort  of  way  asked 
a  question  concerning  our  family.  Now,  Pahson,  our 
family  affairs  air  not  the  public's  property,  and  when 
that  niggah  told  me  of  the  impudence  of  the  inquisitive 
person,  it  meant  pistols,  and  it  wah  pistols.  It  wah  n't 
my  fault  that  he  would  n't  shoot,  and  stood  like  a  mummy 
with  his  pistol  in  his  hand  looking  at  me  when  ole  Tim 
Warman  counted  three ;  and  I  guess  as  he  felt  the  sting 
of  the  bullet  that  let  out  his  heart's  blood,  that  he  wished 
he  had  n't  asked  the  niggah  of  a  bohn  gentleman  whether 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

his  young  mastah  had  reached  home  safely  the  night  he 
drank  too  much  licker  and  raised  hell  in  the  village.  It 
ain't  safe  to  question  niggahs  about  their  mastah's 
affairs." 

The  Virginian  here  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the 
parson,  who  now  stood  as  if  he  were  an  antagonist,  de 
termined  not  to  let  him  escape. 

u  Why  do  you  evade  your  duty  ?  "  he  asked  lowering 
his  voice.  "  Are  you  a  coward,  Mr.  Luridson  ?  Your 
last  episode,  not  your  first/* 

Fire  flashed  from  the  colonel's  eye ;  he  cast  a  quick 
glance  at  the  parson,  who  with  folded  arms  stood  facing 
him,  and  then,  as  if  respecting  the  cloth  of  the  man  of 
God,  or  subdued  by  that  placid  gaze,  he  turned  his  eyes 
toward  the  ceiling. 

u  The  last  affair  to  this  date  you  mean,  Pahson,  not 
necessarily  the  last  one.  No  man  knows  when  he 
may  strike  a  quarrel,  any  more  than  he  knows  jest  when 
he  may  slip  off  the  tight-rope  you  were  preaching  of,"  he 
replied,  leering  in  a  sinister  way  at  the  parson.  "You 
want  my  episode,  and  you  seem  to  want  it  bad.  Now 
you  shall  hev  it,  and  I  call  these  gentlemen  to  witness 
that  you  forced  me  to  relate  it.  I  'm  not  ashamed  of 
my  record,  nor  afraid  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  but  I 
hev  done  all  a  gentleman  can  do  to  save  trouble,  and  if 
trouble  comes  it  ain't  my  fault. 

"  This  is  the  way  it  happened  : 

u  I  hain't  much  schooling,  but  I  hev  enough  to  ansah 
all  the  use  a  bohn  gentleman  has  fer  book  learning.  I 
went  to  school  until  I  could  read  the  newspapah  and 
write  a  fair  letter,  and  then  I  found  it  useless  to  spend 
more  time  with  books.  I  did  n't  intend  to  write  a  novel 
or  edit  a  dictionary,  and  I  did  n't  propose  to  fool  away 
my  time  on  matters  that  were  of  no  particular  value  to  a 

61 


Smngtown  on  the  Pike 

gentleman  of  leisure,  so  I  dropped  school  and  turned  my 
attention  to  foxes  and  dogs. 

u  Wall,  that  ole  schoolhouse  stood  until  this  war  of 
secession  came,  honerable  as  a  schoolhouse  should  stand  ; 
but  aftah  our  forces  retired  and  the  Yankee  lines  were 
advanced  beyond  us,  the  house  was  disgraced  by  this 
damn  Freedman's  Bureau.1  You  would  n't  believe  it  if 
a  gentleman  like  myself  did  n't  certify  to  the  fact,  but  a 
Yankee  wah  sent  to  our  section  and  a  niggah  school  wah 
started  in  the  very  house  where  I  had  carved  my  name 
on  the  bench.  Gentlemen,  a  niggah  school." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "tell  us  about  the  c  niggah' 
school." 

u  There  ain't  much  to  tell,  fer  it  did  n't  last  long.  A 
meeting  of  neighbourhood  gentlemen  followed,  and  I  wah 
delegated  to  direct  that  Yankee  to  close  the  doors  and 
leave  the  country." 

«  Well  ?  " 

u  I  laid  the  case  befoah  the  young  man  who  taught  the 
school,  and  one  word  led  to  anothah  until,  finding  that 
he  wah  determined  to  persist  in  his  offensive  course,  I 
told  him  that  he  must  either  close  that  school  or  fight." 

u  And  he  fought  you  ?  " 

tl  No.  The  long-haired  varmint  had  n't  spunk  enough 
to  fight;  he  turned  his  back,  said  insolently:  4 'Scuse 
me,  please,  but  I  hev  this  duty  to  perform,'  and  shut  the 
doah  in  my  face." 

"And  you  —  " 

"  Kicked  the  doah  down,  seized  the  stripling  by  the 
throat  and  squeezed  his  life  out.  I  did  n't  intend  to  ki!l 
the  boy,  fer  he  wahn't  moh  'n  half  grown  ;  but  aftah  I 
got  my  clutches  on  his  throat  and  thought  of  the  insult 


Tfcc  Freedman's  Bureau  was  established  in  March,  1865. 
62 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

he  had  given  me  and  saw  a  niggah's  face  behind  nay  ole 
desk,  I  grew  desperate,  and  when  I  threw  him  onto  the 
floor  his  face  was  as  black  as  the  skin  of  the  niggahs 
around  him." 

"  And  then  —  " 

"Nothin'.  I  wiped  my  hands  on  my  kerchief,  called 
my  dogs  and  left  the  fool  niggahs  and  their  cowardly 
teachah.  i  had  done  my  duty.  I  had  given  the  Yankee 
and  the  niggahs  a  lesson,  and  I  don't  hev  no  squeams 
now  over  the  episode.  If  he  had  been  a  bohn  gentleman 
I  would  hev  shot  him  in  his  tracks ;  but  as  it  wah,  I 
choked  him  as  I  would  a  varmint.  Nothin'  but  a  coward 
is  ever  choked  to  death.  Perish  me,  if  any  damn,  long 
haired  Yankee  shall  insult  Colonel  Luridson." 

"  What  was  the  man's  name  ?  " 

"  Jones,  suh,  Jones.  Same  name  as  youhself,  Pah- 
son,  a  very  common  name,"  he  said  with  a  sneer,  "  and 
a  rery  ordinary  man,  suh." 

Mr.  Jones  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  unconcerned :  no 
change  of  facial  expression,  no  movement  bespeaking 
unusual  interest  in  the  subject  so  abruptly  ended.  Then 
he  spoke  in  a  soft,  low  tone,  so  sweet  and  mild  that  it 
is  strange  his  voice  could  be  heard  through  the  roaring 
of  the  storm  that  now  suddenly  flared  up  —  as  if  the 
closing  of  the  story  had  been  the  signal  for  its  tumultu 
ous  onslaught. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  the  clock  points  to  twelve.  The 
New  Year  is  upon  us  ; "  and  as  we  turned  our  gaze 
upon  the  face  of  the  clock,  one  by  one  the  husky  gong 
struck,  each  note  of  the  asthmatic  cry  quivering  hoarsely 
until  the  next  peal  came.  At  the  last  stroke  the  parson 
dropped  upon  his  knees.  u  Let  us  pray,"  he  murmured. 
The  building  trembled  in  the  tempest,  the  hanging  sign 
squeaked  and  cried  as  it  flapped  back  and  forth,  the  wind 

63 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

moaned  and  sung  through  the  stove  pipe,  the  shutters 
banged  to  and  fro,  hut  all  were  unheard  by  those  who 
unexpectedly  were  called  to  listen  to  the  sweet,  solemn 
prayer  of  the  man  of  God. 

He  prayed  for  his  suffering  country,  now  in  the  throes 
of  civil  war;  for  the  people  of  the  colonel  in  Virginia; 
and  his  brave  countrymen  in  the  Southern  army  ;  he 
asked  blessings  on  the  community  in  which  he,  a  man 
of  the  North,  then  chanced  to  dwell ;  also  on  his  own 
people  at  home,  and  prayed  for  his  own  brethren  in  the 
trenches.  Before  closing  he  asked  God  to  forgive  the 
last  speaker,  who,  a  self-confessed  murderer,  stood  unre 
pentant  ;  and  finally  he  murmured  a  prayer  for  the  soul 
of  the  unsuspecting  boy-teacher  who,  in  cold  blood,  had 
lost  his  life  by  the  hand  of  the  murderous  colonel. 

Then,  without  rising,  Mr.  Jones  took  his  note-book 
and  pencil  from  his  pocket,  and,  resting  his  hand  on  the 
soft  cushion  of  his  vacant  chair,  carefully  wrote  a  few 
sentences  in  it.  Rising,  he  tore  out  the  leaf  and  handed 
it  to  the  village  clerk,  who  was  also  secretary  of  the 
church.  "  Read,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  read  aloud,  and 
then  present  it  to  the  trustees." 

*  To  the  Officers  of  the  Stringtown  Methodist  Episcopal  Churck. 

"  This,  my  resignation,  is  to  take  effect  at  once.  No  longer 
a  teacher  of  the  Word,  no  longer  a  mediator  for  others,  I  must 
ask  others  to  pray  for  me,  a  sinning  suppliant. 

"  OSMOND  JONES." 

Then,  standing  erect,  he  faced  Colonel  Luridson,  who, 
undaunted,  returned  his  look  with  a  defiant  scowl. 

Pahson,"   said   Luridson,  "Pahson    Jones,  were    it 

not  fer  youah  cloth  I  would  make  you  eat  the  insult  you 

jest   given   me  —  me,  a    Virginia    gentleman.      At 

youah    request,  I   told   this    story    to  please   this   com- 

64 


The  Story  of  the  Colonel 

pany.  You  hcv  called  me  a  murderah,  suh — me,  a 
gentleman  of  honali,  suh.  I  will  not  stand  the  insult, 
pahson  or  no  pahson  —  prayer  or  no  prayer.  You  took 
advantage  of  youah  cloth,  and  you  shall  eat  youah 
words,  or  by  the  bones  of  my  grandfather  you  will  sing 
youah  next  song  and  breathe  youah  next  insulting  pray 
er  in  —  " 

"  Check  your  wrath,"  interrupted  the  parson,  without 
the  least  excitement.  u  Listen  to  me.  You  have  told 
your  story  ;  now  I  shall  tell  mine.  If  you  are  a  brave 
man  you  will  not  flinch.  I  have  heard  your  words,  and 
you  are  bound  to  listen  to  what  I  am  bound  to  relate, 
and  which,  notwithstanding  the  task  you  have  imposed 
upon  me,  I  shall  tell  as  deliberately  as  you  have  spoken." 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    STORY    OF    THE    PARSON. 

"TNSCRUTABLE  Providence  has  led  us  together, 
JL  Colonel,  me  from  the  North  and  you  from  the 
South.  That  we  are  both  of  one  honourable  people  is 
evidenced  from  the  fact  that  from  Bennington  and  from 
Saratoga,  to  the  moss-clad  Southern  glades  where  Marion 
camped,  our  ancestors  fought  for  a  common  cause,  free 
dom  for  the  white  man.  Shoulder  to  shoulder  your 
ancestors  and  mine  faced  the  same  enemy,  each  patriot 
ready  and  willing  to  die  for  the  land  he  loved,  a  land  dear 
alike  to  North  and  South.  Nobler  men  never  lived  tha* 
our  forefathers,  Colonel ;  for  while  yours,  on  the  verge 
of  starvation,  were  fighting  in  Virginia,  mine,  half  frozen 
and  with  empty  stomachs,  were  battling  in  New  Eng 
land.  Thank  God  for  the  patriots  North  and  South, 
who  gave  us  a  country  of  which  both  have  great  reason 
to  be  proud. 

"  You  have  given  your  version  of  an  affair  in  which 
you  participated,  you,  a  descendant  of  a  Revolutionary 
hero  who  served  and  died  with  Washington.  You  se 
lected  what  you  consider  the  proper  method  of  righting 
a  fancied  wrong,  the  manly  way  to  maintain  the  '  hon 
our*  of  your  distinguished  grandfather  and  yourself. 
Now,  I  will  give  the  history  of  the  man  you  killed, 
who,  like  yourself,  was  a  descendant  of  a  soldier  who 
faced  the  British  enemy,  and  fell  near  where  now  stands 

66 


The  Story  of  the  Parson 

the  monument  of  Bunker  Hill.  Notwithstanding  your 
different  methods  of  life,  neither  you  who  live  nor  he 
whom  you  killed  can  be  considered  the  descendants  of 
cowards. " 

Either  the  speaker's  voice  had  insensibly  fallen,  or 
the  storm  without  had  increased  in  violence  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  overcome  its  low  murmur.  The  words 
were  scarcely  audible,  and  as  the  last  sentence  was 
spoken  a  pause  ensued  in  which  one  heard  only  the 
shrieking  of  the  frantic  wind. 

u  There  are  good  reasons,  Colonel  Luridson,  why 
men  cannot  see  life's  duties  exactly  alike  ;  and  while  I 
freely  overlook  your  extravagant  ideas  of  personal  hon 
our,  it  is  a  pity  you  cannot  have  equal  charity  for  the 
views  of  my  people.  You  were  reared  in  the  South,  I 
in  the  North.  Your  land  is  balmy  and  pleasant  most  of 
the  year,  mine  cold  and  cheerless.  Your  soil  is  easily 
cultivated  and  productive  of  great  returns,  our  land  is 
hilly  and  covered  with  granite  boulders,  around  the  bases 
of  which  msa  search  with  the  hoe  to  find  a  nest  here 
and  there  for  a  few  grains  of  hard,  yellow,  scrub-flint 
corn.  Yjjr  winters  are  so  mild  that  stock  scarcely 
seek  for  shelter,  and  your  herds  graze  in  open  air  the 
year  through  ;  our  winters  are  so  long  that  when  spring 
comes  the  entire  crop  of  the  summer  has  been  consumed 
in  feeding  a  very  limited  number  of  animals.  You  be 
came  the  heir  of  plenty  by  the  result  of  thit  bittle  for 
freedom,  in  which  both  our  ancestors  served  so  valiantly, 
while  it  brought  to  us  only  a  barren  heritage.  While  you 
have  been  free  to  roam  at  will,  watching  for  fancied  in 
sults  and  cultivating  belligerent  passions,  I  have  been 
compelled  to  work  unremittingly,  and  thus  our  distinc 
tive  environments  have  created  our  different  views  of 
life.  Each  of  us  should  in  consequence  have  forbear- 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

ance  for  the  other.  I  had  to  gain  a  livelihood,  and  was 
forced  to  spend  the  results  of  my  little  savings  to  secure 
the  education  necessary  for  the  ministry,  while  you  were 
provided  for  by  the  property  you  inherited,  and  were  not 
obliged  to  labour." 

The  parson  was  interrupted  by  the  grocer,  who,  ever 
mindful  of  his  guests,  stepped  forth  and  heaped  the  fire 
with  coal  ;  the  long-legged  clerk,  who  had  never  before 
been  known  to  move  the  relic  of  a  chair  on  which  he 
sat,  actually  broke  the  record  and  hitched  it  toward  the 
stove.  Mose,  the  Jew  —  patient,  pleasant  Mose  incap 
able  of  sarcasm  or  hatefulness,  even  when  his  people  had 
been  abused  by  idle-mouthed  Gentiles,  and  whose  face 
had  never  before  lost  its  smile,  now  drew  his  nail-keg 
seat  a  foot  forward,  even  edging  himself  into  the  circle 
of  Gentiles. 

u  Is  n't  this  a  fearful  night  to  be  on  picket  duty  ? 
God  help  our  exposed  brethren  of  the  North  and  South," 
said  Professor  Drake.  There  was  no  reply,  and  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators  turned  again  to  the  actors  before 
them.  The  colonel,  now  pressing  the  preacher  to  the 
climax,  as  the  preacher  had  previously  done  to  him,  said  : 

u  Let 's  have  the  story,  Pahson,  not  an  oration  about 
our  common  pedigree.  I  don't  catch  the  connection." 

"  The  story  you  soon  shall  have,  sir ;  I  wished  to 
show  that  you  and  I  may  each  revere  the  memory  of  the 
other's  ancestors.  I  wished  also  to  remove  the  stigma 
you  have  tried  to  cast  over  the  man  you  killed,  and  to 
say,  Colonel,  that  your  honoured  ancestor  fought  for  his 
country,  as  thousands  of  noble  Southern  soldiers  are  now 
doing,  and  as  Colonel  Luridson  is  not  doing.  Your 
ancestors  of  Revolutionary  fame  did  not  choke  stripling 
lads  with  pens  in  their  hands  in  behalf  of  falsely  imputed 
insults,  sir." 

68 


The  Story  of  the  Parson 

Involuntarily  the  colonel's  hand  sought  his  back 
pocket,  but  as  he  made  the  movement  two  members 
of  the  Circle  sprang  to  their  feet.  The  parson  waved 
them  back. 

"  Shame,  shame,  Colonel  !  "  he  said  calmly,  u  I  have  n't 
even  a  pen ;  besides,  I  have  not  told  my  story  ;  you  are 
bound  in  honour  to  listen  patiently  to  my  story." 

u  Then  be  quick  about  it,"  said  Luridson  savagely, 
and  be  careful  of  youah  words,  or  I  won't  promise  fer 
my  temper.  Jest  now  you  came  near  going  to  the  other 
Jones,  and  ancestors  or  no  ancestors,  cloth  or  no  cloth, 
I  warn  you  not  to  rile  me  ag'in." 

"  I  was  born  and  reared  in  New  England,"  continued 
the  clergyman  without  noticing  the  insult,  "  where  men, 
women,  and  children  must  work  for  their  living,  and  I 
assure  you  they  consider  it  honourable  to  do  so.  I  was 
the  elder  of  two  boys,  and  much  older  than  two  sisters. 
Our  little  home  nestled  at  the  base  of  a  mountain  spur, 
within  a  short  journey  of  the  ill-fated  historical  Willey 
House,  and  there,  hidden  in  a  nook  that  even  tourists 
seldom  find,  the  days  of  our  peaceful  child  life  came  and 
went.  Before  our  cottage  stretched  a  small  meadow, 
through  which  wound  a  clear  brook  fresh  from  the  birch- 
covered  mountain  in  its  rear.  One  corner  of  this 
meadow  was  a  garden,  and  included  also  a  small  rye 
field,  which  gave  us  our  dark  rye  bread.  We  had  not 
much  beyond  the  necessities  of  life,  but  we  were  happy. 
We  roamed  the  mountain  side  Saturday  afternoons, 
caught  fish  in  the  brook  and  helped  our  father  till  his 
little  fields.  In  winter  evenings  we  cracked  nuts,  ate 
apples  and  listened  to  our  aged  grandmother's  stories  of 
wolves,  Indians  and  of  the  revolutionary  wars ;  during 
winter  we  attended  a  neighbourhood  school.  You  never 
beheld  such  scenes  as  we  sometimes  witnessed  there ; 

69 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

you  have  never  ploughed  your  way  to  school  through 
waist-deep  snow  nor  slept  in  the  garret  under  the  clap 
boards  and  waked  to  find  the  snow  sifted  in  furrows 
across  the  coverlet. 

"  Such  environments  teach  us  to  love  one  another  more 
dearly,  bring  us  closer  together,  strengthen  family  and 
neighbourly  ties,  make  our  joys  a  pleasure  to  others,  and 
move  others  to  mourn  with  us  in  sorrow,  bind  human 
lives  into  one,  give  to  us  faith,  hope,  and  charity. 

"  You  spoke  of  the  fine  sense  of  honour  that  exists 
among  your  people,  but,  my  brother,  could  you  have 
been  schooled,  as  I  have  been,  to  think  of  the  sorrowing 
friends,  the  mourning  wife,  children,  or  sweetheart,  and 
the  agony  with  which  love  looks  into  an  open  grave, 
your  c  tender  '  heart,  which  bleeds  at  the  recollection  of  a 
dying  baby  snake,  would  not  forget  its  tenderness  and 
gloat  over  cold-blooded  murder  in  behalf  of  wounded 
'  honour.'  " 

As  in  harmony  with  these  pathetic  words,  as  if  to  im 
press  their  force  upon  that  little  circle,  at  this  point  the 
building  trembled  more  violently  than  ever,  the  storm's 
fury  seeming  even  to  bend  it  out  of  its  upright  position, 
and,  springing  from  its  seat  on  the  topmost  shelf,  a  glass 
fruit  jar  shivered  into  fragments  on  the  floor  directly 
between  the  two  upright  men. 

But  the  cry  of  wind  and  crash  of  glass  were  unheeded 
by  the  spell-wrapped  actors  who  stood  facing  each 
other,  and  the  audience  began  now  to  realise  that  these 
two  men  were  personally  concerned  in  both  the  story 
the  Virginian  had  told  and  that  which  the  parson  was 
relating.  The  colonel  was  stoically  gazing  into  vacancy. 
u  Thus,"  continued  the  parson,  "  my  boyhood  days  were 
spent  until  my  brother  grew  to  manhood,  and  my  dear 
sisters  were  in  the  early  bloom  of  maidenhood ;  my 

70 


The  Story  of  the  Parson 

aged  grandmother,  with  her  stones  of  the  long-ago,  had 
gone  to  eternal  rest,  and  my  patient,  loving  mother,  like 
a  guardian  angel,  moved  quietly  about  the  house, 
thoughtful  of  all  but  herself,  typical  of  thousands  of  New 
England  mothers  who  forget  themselves  in  their  plodding 
life-work.  I  'm  thinking  now  of  a  typical  New  England 
winter,  during  which  there  was  never  a  thaw  after  the 
opening  snow  flew ;  every  day  after  November  first  the 
frost  crept  deeper,  every  night  the  cold  grew  stronger,  and 
when  the  days  began  to  lengthen  we  had  already  experi 
enced  winter  enough  for  the  whole  season.  It  had  been 
decided  long  previously  that  I  should  go  to  an  academy  to 
study  for  the  ministry,  and  each  member  of  our  family 
had  scrimped  and  saved  for  years,  in  order  to  gather 
together  the  necessary  means.  My  devoted  sisters  had 
even  spent  several  summers  as  dining-room  waiters  in  a 
neighbouring  mountain  hotel,  adding  by  this  sacrifice 
their  earnings  to  the  family  hoard.  But  God  moves  in 
mysteries ;  the  week  after  New  Year's  Day  my  father 
was  kicked  by  our  horse  and  instantly  killed.  We  were 
drawn  to  the  churchyard  by  the  same  horse ;  and  as  we 
bowed  our  heads  about  the  open  grave,  Colonel,  the 
snow  which  had  been  shovelled  aside  stood  on  a  level  as 
high  above  the  earth's  surface  as  the  pit  before  us  sunk 
beneath  it.  Next  day  the  winds  swept  back  the  snow 
drift,  and  a  cloak  of  pure,  unruffled  whiteness  told  that 
God  conducted  the  close  as  well  as  the  opening  of  that 
drama.  God  was  with  me  then,  but  God  only  knows, 
my  brethren,  whether  the  hand  of  Providence  is  with 
me  now. 

"We  returned  to  our  desolate  home  and  spent  as 
best  we  could  the  remainder  of  the  sad  winter ;  but  with 
returning  spring  and  the  cares  of  the  sugar  bush  our 
sorrow  abated,  for  the  duties  of  life  cannot  be  thrown 

71 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

aside  even  at  the  behest  of  grief  ;  and  he  who  best 
serves  his  Creator  looks  not  backward,  as  you  yourself 
have  said,  Colonel.  Realising  that  I  had  no  chance  now 
for  my  contemplated  education,  my  ambition  was  thrown 
aside,  and  the  usual  life  cares  were  resumed.  How 
long  this  ran  I  cannot  say,  but  long  enough  to  give  me 
many  heartaches  over  withered  prospects.  Still,  the 
unexpected  often  happens.  Friends,  you  cannot  imagine 
the  joy  that  followed  the  reception  of  a  precious  letter. 
Our  Congressman,  unbeknown  to  us,  had  interested 
himself  in  our  behalf  with  the  Freedman's  Bureau ;  my 
brother  received  by  mail  a  great  envelope  marked 
'Official,'  and  in  it  came  an  appointment  as  —  school 
teacher  —  in  —  Virginia." 

The  Colonel,  whose  gaze  had  been  riveted  upon  the 
ceiling,  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker;  evidently 
he  had  anticipated  the  closing  information,  and  after  the 
sudden  start  he  stoically  resumed  his  former  position. 
Mr.  Wagner  stopped  whittling ;  Professor  Drake,  un 
comfortable,  busied  himself  in  straightening  the  edges 
of  a  pile  of  books  ;  Judge  Elford  grimly  chewed  his 
quid.  The  pastor  stood  motionless  a  moment,  appar 
ently  lost  in  thought,  then  he  slowly  took  his  note-book 
and  some  papers  from  an  inner  pocket  and  handed  them 
to  Mr.  Wagner,  saying :  "  Please  mail  these  to-morrow 
to  the  address  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  book." 

At  these  words  Luridson  turned  half  way  toward  the 
wall,  and  drew  his  half-closed  hand  from  his  hip  pocket; 
an  object  could  be  seen  in  its  palm  which  glistened  like 
a  bright  bar  of  iron  ;  a  click  followed,  the  hand  returned 
the  gleaming  object  to  its  former  place,  and  the  colonel 
stood  immovable  before  the  pastor. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  wind  without  at  this  juncture, 
and  taking  one  step  towards  the  colonel,  the  pastor 

72 


The  Story  of  the  Parson 

continued,  in  a  soft,  tremulous  tone  :  cc  Need  you  be 
told  what  followed  ?  A  telegram,  a  sobbing  mother, 
distracted  sisters,  brother  on  bended  knees,  alone,  in  an 
attic  room,  registering  with  God  an  oath  to  revenge  the 
infamous  crime  and  not  to  relent  until  the  murderer 
had  been  brought  to  judgment.  Since  that  day  Heaven 
has  kept  me  from  encountering  the  slayer  of  my  brother. 
The  fellow  fled,  Colonel,  and  you  know,  brave  as  you 
pretend  to  be,  that  he  who  stands  before  me  now  is  a 
fugitive  from  justice  and  fears  to  go  back  to  his  Virginia 
home ;  neither  does  he  dare  to  let  his  honourable  Vir 
ginia  countrymen  know  his  hiding-place.  You  have 
discredited  your  ancestors,  you  are  shaming  the  brave 
Southern  soldier,  and  have  no  claim  on  the  glorious 
mother  of  States,  Virginia." 

The  Colonel  made  a  quick  motion,  as  if  to  strike  the 
speaker,  but  Mr.  Jones  calmly  held  out  his  open  hand, 
and  in  response  to  the  silent  command  Luridson  re^ 
sumed  his  former  position. 

u  Long,"  continued  the  pastor,  "  I  struggled  to  over 
come  my  wrath,  vainly  struggled  to  forgive,  and  at  last 
I  vowed  that  while  our  Master  kept  us  apart  no  inten 
tional  act  of  mine  should  bring  us  into  conflict ;  but  if 
God  Almighty  led  us  to  each  other  I  would  consider 
that  it  was  by  His  will,  and  for  a  single  purpose,  and  — 
the  hour  has  now  come." 

The  hand  of  the  colonel  sped  toward  his  hip  pocket, 
but  not  so  quickly  as  the  pastor's  arm  sprang  out,  for  as 
springs  the  tongue  of  a  lizard,  too  rapid  for  eye  to  fol 
low,  so  sprang  the  pastor's  arms ;  and  as  a  quivering 
sparrow  gives  one  glance  of  despair,  and  one  only, 
when  falls  the  unexpected  shadow  of  the  hawk  upon  him, 
so  gave  the  colonel  one  upward  turn  of  the  eye  ;  and 
as  the  talons  of  the  fierce  bird  of  prey,  crunching  through 

73 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

bone  and  flesh,  creep  into  the  vitals  of  the  death-struck 
bird,  so  crept  those  finger-ends  into  the  tissues  of  the 
colonel's  throat,  closing  the  throbbing  arteries  beneath, 
damming  up  life's  crimson's  current  until,  under  the 
pressure  of  the  fluttering  heart,  blood  flowed  from  mouth, 
nose,  and  ear,  and  the  very  eyeballs  turned  purple. 

The  teacher  sprang  forward,  so  did  the  judge,  but  too 
late  ;  the  crime  had  been  committed  in  the  space  of  a 
a  breath  ;  taken  by  surprise,  they  could  give  the  unfor 
tunate  man  no  help  ;  the  pent-up  hatred  of  years  had 
been  concentrated  in  that  fearful  grasp.  That  wild 
throwing  of  the  arms,  gurgle  indescribably  horrible,  at 
tempted  swelling  of  the  breast,  instant  blackening  of 
the  face,  frightful  upturning  of  the  eyeballs,  followed  by 
the  rush  of  blood  from  the  mouth  and  nostrils,  were 
sights  that  haunt  me  yet. 

As  falls  an  unclasped  garment  in  a  heap,  so  sank  the 
Colonel,  dead  upon  the  floor. 

Folding  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  the  pastor  ad 
dressed  Judoje  Elford  :  u  A  murderer  has  gone  to  judg 
ment,  a  murderer  is  born  for  judgment  :  I  give  myself 
up  to  the  law." 

Paralysed,  stunned  with  horror  by  what  they  had 
witnessed,  the  members  of  the  circle  stood  like  frozen 
figures,  motionless  and  dumb  around  the  erect  parson 
and  the  fallen  braggart.  How  long  I  know  not,  only  I 
am  sure  thit  from  my  place  in  the  rear,  where  I  had 
crept  close  to  old  Mose,  I  saw  the  amazed  group  stand 
aghast,  staring  first  upon  the  slayer  and  then  upon  his 
victim. 

Next  I  beheld,  as  in  a  dream,  that  the  village  doctor 
raised  the  head  of  the  vanquished  man,  tore  open  the 
garments  covering  his  chest,  loosened  his  collar,  placed 
a  hand  upon  his  breast  and  kneeled  expectantly  for  a 

74 


The  Story  of  the  Parson 

brief  period,  then  with  a  shake  of  the  head  slowly  arose 
and  pronounced  the  word,  "  Dead."  u  Strange,"  he 
said,  u  that  a  single  squeeze  like  this  should  be  followed 
by  death.  I  have  seen  men  choked  until  the  tongue 
hung  out  of  their  mouth,  and  yet  they  revived.  There 
is  no  evidence  of  life  in  Luridson,  however  :  the  shock 
must  have  burst  a  blood-vessel  in  his  brain." 

The  witnesses  of  the  drama  now  regained  their  self- 
control,  the  palsy  passed,  their  minds  were  liberated  from 
the  stupefying  spell,  and  simultaneously  several  men 
stepped  forward.  In  silence  the  dead  colonel  was  straight 
ened  out  upon  the  floor  and  covered  with  a  strip  of 
muslin  torn  from  a  bolt.  A  messenger  with  lantern  in 
hand  was  dispatched  for  the  village  undertaker,  and  old 
Mose  volunteered  to  perform  the  errand.  During  this 
period  the  pastor  stood  silent,  with  downcast  eyes  iy  the 
judge  sat  apparently  apathetic,  and,  obeying  a  common 
instinct,  the  members  of  the  circle  automatically  resumed 
their  usual  places,  waiting  for  the  end  of  the  strange 
New  Year  celebration.  I,  however,  against  my  will, 
now  that  the  old  Jew,  Mose,  was  gone  from  my  side, 
found  myself  crouching,  shivering  next  the  stove,  near 
Osmond  Jones,  the  preacher,  who  alone  was  standing. 
Seeing  me,  he  reached  down  and  placed  his  hand  gently 
on  my  head. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  u  would  to  God  you  had  stayed  with 
your  mother  to-night." 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  FEARFUL  STORM  OF   NEW  YEAR'S  EVE,   1863 

THE  calm  which  had  subdued,  for  the  time,  the 
usually  active  and  sometimes  boisterous  proceedings 
of  the  villagers  was  in  impressive  contrast  with  the  wild  up 
roar  of  the  winter  tempest.  The  storm  raged,  if  possible, 
with  increasing  violence  in  the  utter  darkness  around  the 
building  in  which  lay  Colonel  Luridson's  stark  corpse, 
surrounded  by  many  who  watched,  but  no  one  who 
deeply  mourned.  The  judge  at  last  rose,  and  was  about 
to  speak,  for  the  very  silence  had  become  oppressive, 
when  the  door  of  the  room  was  flung  open,  and  old 
Cupe,  the  faithful  slave  of  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  with  the  in 
coming  blast  burst  into  the  midst  of  the  company.  Daz 
zled  by  the  brightness,  he  stared  about  the  room,  and  it 
could  be  seen  that  he  was  benumbed  and  suffering  with 
cold.  His  garments  were  covered  with  ice,  his  beard  was 
hidden  in  frost.  Catching  sight  of  the  physician,  neglect 
ing  the  bright  stove  that  must  have  seemed  so  grateful, 
he  impulsively  exclaimed  : 

"  Quick,  Doctah,  quick,  Ma'se  am  dyin' ;  he  wan's 
yo'  too,  Pahson  ;  quick,  Pahson  !  " 

The  doctor  went  to  the  door,  stepped  outside,  returned, 
and  closed  the  strong  valve  against  the  blast. 

"  Not  this  night,  Cupe.  A  man  would  freeze  before 
he  could  find  the  cabin." 

u  Yo*  mus'  go,  Ma'se  Dock,  yo'  mus'  go,  fo'  nebbah 
will  Ma'se  lib  till  mahn'n'." 

41 1  will  not  go  this  night,"  said  the  doctor  emphati- 
76 


New  Year's  Eve,  1863 

cally.  "  It  is  better  for  one  to  die  than  that  two  should 
perish." 

After  a  period  of  silence  the  negro's  self-possession  was 
restored,  and  he  became  again  the  garrulous  Cupe,  prone 
to  argue  regardless  of  the  importance  of  the  message  to 
be  delivered. 

"  Et  doan  make  no  difPence  nohow,"  he  muttered, 
"  dah  ain't  no  use  in  a  doctah  when  deff  comes  a-walkin' 
in.  Niggah  signs  am  suah,  but  doctah  stuff  am  unsahtin. 
De  sign  am  not  t'  be  disembayed.  What  fo'  did  Cupe 
walk  absent-minde'  like  inte'  de  house  t'-day  carryin*  an 
axe  on  his  shouldah  ? 1  Did  n't  Cupe  know  dat  sech  a 
sign  mean'  suah  deff  t'  some  pusson,  an'  fo'  de  Lawd,  de 
debbil  make  him  do  dat  awful  ting.  An'  when  Cupe 
t'ink  ob  de  awfulness  ob  de  transaction  an*  step  back  t' 
lebe  de  room,  dah  settin,  in  de  op'n  doo'way  wah  dat 
dawg  Dgawge ;  an'  he.  jest  look  up  in  Cupe's  eyes  es 
sah'ful-like  es  ebah  a  dawg  could  look,  es  ef  he  say  t' 
his  old  frien',  l  Cupe,  yo'  hab  gone  an'  done  it,  suah.' 
An'  then  when  Cupe  cotch  de  awfulness  ob  de  'stake 
an'  look  down  at  Dgawge  quistionin'-like,  de  dawg  raise 
his  head  an'  open  his  mouf  an'  howl  long  an'  skeary- 
like,  lookin'  all  de  time  in  Cupe's  face  es  moanful  es  de 
young  missus  in  de  big  house  on  her  dyin'  bed  look,  in 
de  long-ago.  God  save  Ma'se,  dah  am  no  'scapin'  de 
aftahcomes  ob  sech  signs  es  dese.  De  sign  in  de  ashes 
de  night  dat  de  boy  come  out  er  Bloody  Hollah  done 
ptnted  t'  Ma'se  dead  dis  New  Yeah  night.  De  axe 
sign  t'-day  done  say  he  gwine  t'  die,  an'  den  de  dawg 
what  set  in  de  doo'way  an'  howl  am  de  sartin  sign  ob 
deff,  case  he  see  deff  com'n'  !  But  de  su'est  sign  ob  all  " 

1  To  carry  an  implement  of  outdoor  work  into  the  house  was  a 
sign  of  death.  To  such  an  extent  was  this  believed  that  the  artist 
who  sketched  the  portrait  of  old  Cupe  could  not  prevail  on  him  to 
enter  the  house  with  the  hoe  on  which  he  is  leaning. 

77 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

(and  Cupe's  voice  became  yet  lower  and  more  measured), 
tt  de  su'est  sign  ob  all  am  dat  de  cedah  tree  limbs  what 
Ada'se  planted  am  es  long  es  a  coffin  now  —  Cupe 
measure  dem  ag'in  t'-day.  Yo'  kin  stay  heah,  Doctah, 
dah  ain't  no  use  in  yoah  stuff  nohow  ef  deff  am  in  de 
room.  De  signs  what  nebbah  fail  am  pintin'  t'  sahtin' 
deff,  dah  ain't  no  good  in  doctah's  stuff  now." 

Having  thus  disposed  of  the  doctor,  the  messenger 
turned  to  Mr.  Jones. 

u  Ma'se  wants  de  preachah.  He  hab  not  ax  fo'  de 
doctah  ;  he  say  :  c  Cupe,  go  fo'  de  pahson,  I  mus'  see  de 
pahson.'  An'  den  Cupe  say,  sed  he  :  4  Ma'se,  did  yo' 
make  frien'  wid  de  pahson  like  ole  Cupe  say  t'  do  ? ' 

" '  Shet  up  yoah  black  mouf  an*  go  fo'  de  pahson,  an* 
doan  wait  too  long,  fo'  I  feel  pow'ful  weak-like,'  say 
Ma'se,  an'  he  give  Cupe  sech  a  look  as  t'  say  dah  ain't 
no  time  t'  lose. 

u  An'  de  face  ob  de  dead  missus  rise  up,  an'  Cupe 
heah  de  words  ob  de  promise  he  made  dat  sah'ful  night  t' 
de  honey  chile  what  am  an  angel  now.  Den  he  say  t' 
Ma'se  :  Ma'se,  I  swear  t'  yoah  deah  muddah  dat  nebbah 
de  weddah  should  be  too  hot  an  nebbah  too  cole  fo' 
Cupe  ter  sahve  de  chile  Heaben  sent  t'  her,  but  dis  am 
de  las'  time  ole  Cupe  kin  sahve  yo',  Ma'se,'  and  den 
Cupe  lite  out  an'  heah  he  am.  Ma'se  Preachah,  yo' 
will  go,  suah  yo'  will ;  de  sign  mix  yo'  an'  Ma'se  Honey 
up  wondahful-like." 

The  preacher  hesitated,  but  not  from  fear  of  the 
storm.  He  looked  at  the  sheet  that  covered  the  lank 
form  of  the  colonel,  then  replied,  speaking  more  to  the 
audience  than  to  the  negro : 

"I  am  not  a  minister  —  but  —  a  murderer." 

The  negro  gazed  at  him  in  wonder,  then  following 
the  parson's  glance,  he  stepped  to  the  sheet  and  raised  it 

78 


New  Year's  Eve,  1863 

cautiously,  far  enough  only  to  give  a  view  of  the  face  of 
the  colonel,  and  started  back  with  staring  eyes. 

"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  Ma'se  Preachah  an'  did  yo'  slew  de 
colonel  ? :> 

"  I  did." 

The  negro's  self-composure  returned  immediately. 

"  Who  'd  ob  b'lebed  it,  Ma'se  !  An'  yo'  so  weak- 
like.  Yo'  am  a  bettah  man  dan  yo'  looks  t'  be,  Ma'se 
Preachah,  an'  ole  Cupe  knows  yo'  sahved  him  right. 
Go  t'  Ma'se  Hardman,  nebbah  mind  the  colonel." 

The  preacher  made  no  reply. 

"  Doan  David  slew  Gliah,"  Cupe  continued  :  a  doan 
de  Lawd  slew  de  wicked  Belshazzah,  doan  de  people  slew 
Stephen  in  de  name  of  de  Lawd  an*  doan  yo'  slew  de 
wicked  colonel  case  de  Lawd  want  him  killed  ?  " 

The  parson  looked  inquiringly  at  the  judge. 

"  Parson,"  responded  the  judge,  u  your  resignation 
has  never  been  accepted  by  the  church.  You  are  yet 
legally  a  minister.  The  church  must  accept  the  resig 
nation  you  wrote  in  order  to  consummate  the  act." 

"  But  the  murder  ?  " 

"  That  point  remains  to  be  established.  If  this  case 
comes  to  trial,  the  evidence  may  show  that  you  acted  in 
self-defence.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  the  colonel  cocked 
his  pistol  while  you  were  still  talking  and  standing  de 
fenceless  with  both  hands  exposed.  He  half  drew  his 
pistol  before  you  grasped  his  throat.  If  I  am  correct, 
he  now  holds  a  loaded  pistol  in  his  hand.  Let  us  see." 
And  raising  the  sheet,  the  judge  carefully  drew  the  col 
onel's  right  hand  from  its  resting  place,  where  it  had 
fallen  partly  covered  by  the  coat,  and  with  it  came  a 
tightly  clasped  pistol. 

"  I  saw  him  draw  the  pistol,"  said  I  ;  "  k  caught  in 
his  overcoat's  lining  and  got  tangled  up." 

79 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

The  judge  regarded  me  curiously.  "  Do  not  forget 
what  you  saw,  child."  Then,  turning  again  to  the 
minister  : 

"  Another  second,*'  he  said,  "  and  you  v/ould  have 
been  a  dead  man,  Parson ;  self-preservation  is  the  first 
impulse ;  you  were  unarmed  and  had  made  no  aggressive 
motion.  You  did  your  duty,  Mr.  Jones,  and  did  it 
bravely ;  the  case  is  self-defence ;  and,  whatever  may  be 
true  of  New  England,  you  need  fear  neither  judge  nor 
jury  in  Kentucky." 

Still  the  parson  hesitated. 

u  Go  !  "  said  the  judge  in  a  tone  of  authority,  point 
ing  to  the  door ;  "  humanity  calls." 

Drawing  his  overcoat  tightly  around  him,  without 
speaking  a  word,  the  parson  moved  to  the  door,  opened 
it,  and  passed  out. 

"De  end  am  not  yet,"  said  old  Cupe,  speaking  to 
himself;  "  de  sign  pinted  t'  two  men  dead  dis  night,  but 
de  colonel  wah  not  one  ob  dem.  Heah  am  one  what 
de  sign  miss.  Am  de  sign  wrong  ?  Fool,"  he  mur 
mured,  "  fool  nigger,  not  t*  know  dat  two  defFs  could  n't 
come  alone  in  de  face  ob  sech  signs.  Ef  et  am  moah 
dan  one,  et  am  not  two,  et  am  free  er  seven  er  nine." 

"  Do  you  remember  what  the  c  Corn  Bug  '  said  to 
Mr.  Jones  the  last  time  they  faced  each  other  in  this 
room  ?  "  asked  the  teacher,  heedless  of  Cupe's  mutterings. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  judge. 

"  I  have  it  written,"  interrupted  the  grocer's  boy ; 
turning  to  his  stenographic  book,  he  read:  " '  You 
have  n't  the  spunk  of  a  sick  rabbit  and  you  have  n't  the 
energy  of  a  sleeping  possum;  you  would  n't  cross  the 
street  in  a  shower  to  save  the  soul  of  a  saint,  and 
you  would  n't  dare  crook  your  finger  in  the  face  of 
a  turtle-dove  for  fear  it  would  get  pecked/  " 

80 


CHAPTER   XI 

INTO    THE    STORM    PASSED    THE    MINISTER 

WHEN  the  door  of  the  grocery  closed  behind  him 
the  pastor  paused,  turned,  grasped  the  door 
knob,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  storm.  Insensible 
now  to  external  things,  he  did  not  feel  the  raging  cold 
outside  the  room  he  had  left,  and  gave  no  further  thought 
to  the  glowing  warmth  within.  He  dropped  upon  his 
knees  and  raised  his  hands  in  supplication  ;  then,  rising, 
he  drew  his  hat  firmly  down  and  strode  out  of  the  feeble 
light  which  struggled  through  the  window. 

He  did  not  think  of  the  course  he  should  take  —  there 
was  no  path  that  night.  He  did  not  reason  his  way  — 
no  power  of  reason  remained.  His  mind  was  wrapped 
in  despondency,  his  spirit  was  lost  in  anguish  so  deep 
that  this  hurricane,  the  maddest  storm  American  history 
records,  was  unnoticed  and  unfelt.  There  is  no  other 
explanation  of  the  part  he  took  that  night.  To  have 
attempted  thought  concerning  surrounding  things  would 
have  been  fatal  to  his  errand ;  to  have  reasoned  would 
have  lost  him  the  way.  Under  such  conditions  and  in 
such  blackness  to  look  for  roadways,  to  seek  familiar 
objects,  to  attempt  to  guide  one's  self  by  the  intellect, 
would  be  to  walk  in  circles,  tarn  here  and  there,  stagger 
like  a  drunken  man,  stumble,  fall,  and  perish.  The 
man  did  not  care  to  see  the  way.  Sensible  neither  to 
6  81 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  cutting  hail,  the  shrieking  blast,  nor  the  intense  cold, 
he  ignored  that  king  of  storms.  Leaving  the  Stringtown 
pike,  he  struck  into  the  fields  and  moved  on.  As  if  it 
were  a  balmy  autumn  day,  and  the  breeze  simply  fanning 
the  cheek  and  cooling  the  brow,  as  if  life's  pleasures 
were  before  him  and  happy  thoughts  behind,  he  strode 
onward.  Presently  he  turned  aside ;  something  he 
neither  saw  nor  felt  blocked  the  way.  A  herd  of  swine 
huddled  together  crushed  one  another,  each  seeking  to 
creep  beneath  the  others,  striving  to  press  nearer  to  the 
centre  of  the  heap,  vainly  trying  to  escape  the  piercing 
cold  that  all  night  long  crept  through  and  through  from 
beast  to  beast,  until,  when  morning  broke,  not  one  re 
mained  alive.  Scarcely  had  he  passed  them  by  when 
close  beside  him  a  mournful  cry  sounded  ;  but  the  wail 
of  anguish  did  not  catch  his  ear  nor  did  it  sound  again, 
for  it  was  the  last  cry  of  some  hapless  beast  that,  strug 
gling,  had  fallen  helpless,  and  would  not  rise  again. 
Caring  not  for  man  nor  beast,  the  pastor  moved  onward, 
guided  by  he  knew  not  what,  toward  a  light  he  did  not 
see.  Over  hills,  through  the  woods,  across  frozen 
creeks,  climbing  fences,  jumping  gullies,  seeking  neither 
path  nor  road,  he  sped. 

At  first  the  shooting  hail  stung  the  skin,  leaving  little 
indented  spots,  but  the  sense  of  pain  soon  ceased  beneath 
the  quieting  touch  of  benumbing  cold.  At  first,  the 
wind  had  waved  the  flowing  hair  that  encircled  his  brow ; 
but  soon  the  beating  hail  and  concealing  frost  had 
matted  it  together  and  frozen  it  to  his  skin  and  coat. 
At  first,  his  arms  and  his  fingers  moved  freely  ;  but  they 
rapidly  grew  insensible  to  pain  or  touch  and  finally  hung 
stiff  and  motionless.  The  man  knew  nothing  of  all 
this,  knew  not  that  the  creeping  cold  was  nearing  his 
vitals ;  little  cared  for  life  or  death. 

82 


Into  the  Storm  passed  the  Minister 

At  last  the  pastor's  eyes  were  greeted  by  a  slender 
ray  streaming  through  a  little  window  near  the  door  of 
a  cabin.  He  tried  to  raise  his  hand  and  grasp  the  door 
knob,  but  could  not.  Both  arms  were  numb.  He 
shouted,  but  the  cry  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  blast ;  he 
listened,  but  no  answer  came,  only  the  tumult  of  the 
sweeping  storm.  Again  and  again  he  cried,  and  then  in 
desperation  threw  himself  against  the  door,  crushed  it  in, 
and  fell  forward  into  the  room.  He  tried  to  rise,  but 
his  hand  could  give  no  response  to  his  will  ;  his  fingers 
rattled  against  the  floor ;  his  arms  refused  to  bend.  By 
chance,  he  pressed  his  heels  against  a  crevice  in  the 
rough-hewn  floor,  then  he  raised  his  head,  next  hii 
shoulders,  and  finally,  as  a  worm  creeps  up,  his  body 
rose,  and  at  last  stood  upright. 

Edging  along  the  wall,  he  reached  the  swinging  door 
that  now  slammed  in  and  out  obedient  to  the  whim  of 
the  varying  blast,  and  pressing  his  weight  against  it  sue- 
ceeded  in  closing  it,  even  to  the  snapping  of  the  catch. 
Just  then  the  flickering  flame  in  the  great  fireplace 
flashed  upward,  lighting  the  room. 

The  cabin  was  built  of  unhewn  beech  logs.  The 
spaces  between  the  logs  were  chinked  with  stones  and 
the  interstices  had  been  filled  with  mud.  In  the  ceiling 
was  a  square  hole  to  which  a  ladder  reached  ;  the  floor 
was  puncheon.  At  one  end  of  the  oblong  room  a 
chimney-place  covered  much  of  the  area.  A  window 
opposed  the  fireplace,  and  another  was  cut  beside  the 
door.  The  hearth  was  made  of  a  single,  large  flat  fossil 
stone  from  out  the  creek  bed.  On  that  stone  stood  an 
iron  oven,  a  few  kitchen  utensils,  and  in  the  huge  throat 
of  the  chimney  hung  a  crane  to  hold  the  kettle  or  sus 
pend  the  roast.  The  furniture  of  the  room  comprised 
a  small  table,  a  few  chairs  and  a  bed.  On  the  wall 

83 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

hung  a  brace  of  horns,  a  couple  of  guns,  some  arrows 
and  a  powder  flask  and  pouch  that  once  had  been  in 
service.  All  this  the  pastor  saw  as  the  fitful  fireflash 
glimmered ;  for  the  quickened  intellect  of  the  man 
whose  life,  resting  on  the  edge  of  one  world  did  not 
reach  yet  a  foothold  in  the  other,  comprehended  quickly 
all  that  rose  before  his  gaze.  To  the  dying  pastor  time 
was  precious,  and  a  single  flash  carried  to  his  brain 
what,  under  other  circumstances,  might  have  remained 
long  unseen. 

Then  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  wan  visage  of  the 
"  Corn  Bug,"  who  stared  back  again  from  the  coverlets 
of  the  bed  ;  —  a  face  in  which  only  two  great  eyes  and 
a  stub  nose  were  visible,  for  a  mass  of  tangled  beard 
and  matted,  unkempt  hair  covered  all  but  the  staring 
eyes  and  whiskey-dyed  nose,  while  the  body  of  the 
wretched  man  sank  back. 

The  man  was  not  alone ;  for  Mr.  Jones  saw  another 
form  in  the  shadows,  half  reclining,  half  sitting  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  bed — the  form  of  a  child,  a 
young  girl  with  dishevelled,  flowing  hair.  She  seemed 
to  have  been  startled  from  sleep  by  the  intruder,  but  she 
made  no  movement  and  asked  no  question.  And  still 
beyond  these  two,  on  the  hearth,  in  the  edge  of  the 
chimney,  so  indistinct  that  it  was  a  question  whether  it 
were  a  shadow  or  a  substance,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
sombre  tracing  that  resembled  a  human  being,  and  yet 
seemed  not  altogether  human  —  a  dusky  mask  that 
seemed  thrown  before  and  yet  might  have  been  a  part 
of  a  form  behind. 

The  flickering  fire  started  up  and  sank  again,  the 
shadows  played  in  dissolving  waves  about  the  room. 
The  wind  without,  in  unison  with  the  dancing  shadows 
within,  rose  and  fell,  singing  strange  songs,  which 


Into  the  Storm  passed  the  Minister 

verberated  through  the  many  half-chinked  crevices  of 
the  logs. 

Never  had  the  New  England  Parson  heard  the  play 
of  the  wind  at  midnight  in  a  house  of  logs,  nor  had  he 
ever  gazed  at  such  a  scene  as  this.  In  that  Kentucky 
land,  man  nor  child  had  ever  taken  part  in  such  a  drama, 
nor,  after  that  New  Year's  Eve,  1864,  has  any  man 
heard  such  fiercely  wild  wind  music.  The  two  men 
gazed  long  at  each  other,  but  both  held  their  voices. 

The  child  broke  the  spell,  and  it  is  well  that  she  did 
so,  for  the  men  seemed  unable  to  utter  a  word.  Each 
seemed  to  have  transfixed  the  other  ;  neither  had  the 
power  to  move.  It  was  a  nightmare  spell,  and  as  in  a 
nightmare  the  life  may  flee  before  the  body  can  be 
induced  to  move,  so,  had  no  living  being  spoken,  the 
spell  that  held  these  men  might  have  ended  as  nightmare 
sometimes  ends. 

Impulsively  the  little  girl  threw  her  arms  about  the  form 
of  the  bedridden  man,  and  then  she  laid  her  fair,  chubby 
cheek  against  his  rough  beard,  keeping  her  eyes  riveted 
on  the  face  of  the  silent  parson.  She  stroked  the 
matted  hair  of  the  uncouth  man,  and,  searching  with 
her  face  beneath  the  shaggy  moustache,  sought  to  kiss 
his  lips.  Even  the  suffering  parson  could  but  contrast 
the  holiness  of  dawning  childhood  and  the  horrible  re- 
pulsiveness  of  self-wasted  manhood. 

The  child  spoke  pleadingly,  as  she  toyed  with  the 
uncouth  visage :  u  Uncle,  uncle,  speak  to  me,  Uncle 
Hardman  ;  "  but  the  dying  sinner,  released  from  silence 
by  that  voice,  spoke,  not  to  her,  but  to  the  man. 

"  Corne  here,  Pahson,  come  here.  I  ordered  Cupe 
ter  find  yo',  an'  the  brack  rascal  did  hie  duty ;  he 
said  he  would  send  yo'  ter  me,  an'  he  du.  Wall,  Pah- 
son,  bygones  es  bygones.  I  riled  yo'  mice,  Pahson, 

85 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

but  I  did  n't  mean  half  I  said,  yo'  see,  Pahson  —  come 
closer  —  we  who  air  bad  hev  a  kind  o'  hatred  fo'  yoah 
kind,  jest  'case  yo'  air  good  an'  we  air  bad ;  there  ain't 
no  other  reason.  An'  when  the  corn-juice  gets  hold  ov 
us  we  say  cussed  things  we  always  half  feel  toward  the 
like  ov  yo',  but  don't  always  speak.  Wall,  Mr.  Jones, 
I  asks  fergiveness  now,  and  aftah  yo'  does  what  I  wants 
yo'  ter,  then  yo'  must  kneel  down,  an'  pray  fo' — come 
closer,  Jones.  I  ain't  strong  now  an'  I  can't  speak  loud. 
I  swore  at  yo'  once,  Pahson,  an'  said  yo'  dare  n't  wet 
yoah  shoe  soles  in  ice  water ;  yo'  hev  beaten  the  words 
back." 

Mr.  Jones  moved  slowly,  painfully  across  the  floor. 
The  girl  in  fear  clung  closer  to  the  sick  man  ;  the  par 
son  saw  by  the  nearer  view  that  the  child  was  very  beau 
tiful,  and  also  by  that  nearer  view  perceived  that  the  man 
became  more  hideous. 

"  Pahson,"  continued  the  sick  man,  "  in  a  trunk  in 
the  loft  above  es  money,  gol'  an'  silver — a  fortune.  I 
hev  seen  some  ov  et,  Mr.  Jones,  gol'  es  there.  Cupe 
says  my  grandad  captured  et  from  a  British  paymaster 
an'  hid  et  in  the  chist ;  but  et  don't  make  no  dift'ence 
wha'  et  came  from ;  et  ain't  safe  ter  ask  quistions  ov  any 
dollah.  All  I  own,  land  an*  money,  all  but  two  thou- 
san'  dollars,  the  girl  must  hev  ;  write  et  down  quick, 
Pahson,  write  et  down." 

"  Where  is  the  paper,  pen  or  pencil  ?  "  Mr.  Jones 
asked. 

u  I    hev    been    raised    with    the    niggers   an'   bv  the 

OO  J 

niggers,  too.     Nevah  had  no  use  fo'  papah  an'  pencil." 
u  Then  I  cannot  do  what  you  wish,"  said  the  parson. 
"  But  yo'  must  do  et ;  did  n't  the  jedge  say  the  night 

I   burned   the   deed   that    I    must  make  a  writin'  will  ? 

Ain't  this  child  ter  be  taken  care  ov  an'  the  boy  ter  be 

86 


Into  the  Storm  passed  the  Minister 

given  money  ter  edycate  him  ?  Yo'  must  write  et  down, 
Pahson,"  he  pleaded  ;  u  the  end  ov  the  nigger  spell  es 
here,  the  nigger  spell  thet  linked  yo'  an'  me  tergethah, 
Mr.  Jones,  an'  yo'  must  write.  I  can't  talk  no  longer, 
fo'  I  am  very  tired." 

"I  left  my  note-book  and  pencil  behind  me;  I 
cannot." 

u  Can't  you  write  on  a  slate,  mister  ?  "  asked  the  girl ; 
"  I  can." 

"  She  can't  write ;  she  knows  her  letters,  but  calls 
makin'  pictures  writin',"  interrupted  the  "  Corn  Bug." 

"  I  can  write,  and  I  've  got  a  slate  full  of  writin'," 
protested  the  child. 

"  Where  is  the  slate  ?  "  asked  the  parson  ;  "  give  it  to 
me  quickly." 

The  child  ran  to  a  corner  of  the  room  and  returned 
with  a  slate  to  which  a  pencil  was  attached  by  a  string. 
u  There,  mister,  see  the  writin',"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  child  drawings  with  which  one  side  of  it  was  covered. 

But  the  parson  could  not  use  the  pencil ;  his  ringers 
refused  to  obey  his  will ;  he  was  helpless. 

"  Write,"  said  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  "  write,  Pahson,  er 
I  will  die  without  makin'  my  cross.  See,  mahn'n  es 
comin',  et  es  daylight  now,  an'  Cupe's  nigger  sign  said 
thet  with  this  mahn'n's  light  I  would  die.  Quick, 
Pahson,  I  want  ter  make  my  cross." 

By  an  effort  Mr.  Jones  pressed  the  slate  between  his 
wrists.  "  Make  your  letters,  child,  as  I  tell  you  to  do." 
And  obedient  to  his  command,  she  slowly  spelled,  letter 
by  letter,  word  by  word,  the  shortest  will  on  record  in 
Stringtown  County,  to  which  as  witness  the  pastor 
managed  to  sign  his  name.  "  Now  for  your  cross- 
mark." 

The   dying   man   seized  the  pencil,  and  as  he  did  so 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  old  crone  arose,  and  advancing  from  out  the  chim 
ney  jamb  (for  she  was  the  shadow),  stood  over  him  and 
said,  partly  as  an  apology,  partly  to  herself,  "  I'se 
a  nigger,  but  ef  sign  in'  ob  pa  pahs  am  t'  be  done,  I 
wants  t'  see  de  makin'  ob  de  cross.  Cupe,  he  say, 
c  Dinah,  doan  yo'  nebbah  let  no  signin'  ob  papahs  be 
done  by  Ma'se  lessen  yo'  sees  de  makin'  ob  de  cross.'  ' 

With  the  negro  crone  on  one  side  and  the  child  on 
the  other,  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  made  the  cross  ;  and  then 
his  partly  relieved  mind  reverted  to  the  future. 

u  Would  yo'  pray  fo'  the  likes  ov  me,  Pahson  ?  " 

But  the  parson,  too  weak  to  rise,  near  to  eternity  as 
was  the  "  Corn  Bug,"  shook  his  head,  and  murmured, 
w  I  cannot,  I  dare  not." 

"  Can't  you  pray,  Mr.  Preacher  ?  "  asked  the  girl ; 
"why,  I  can  say  the  prayer  my  mother  left  me." 

"  Pray  for  both  of  us,  child,"  murmured  the  parson 
with  a  last  effort.  Kneeling  upon  the  puncheon  floor, 
with  her  little  hands  clasped  and  her  child-like  face 
turned  upward,  the  girl  interceding  for  the  dying  profli' 
gate  and  the  wretched  murderer  lisped  the  simple  prayer : 

Now  we  lay  us  down  to  sleep, 
We  pray  thee,  Lord,  our  souls  to  keep  ; 
If  we  should  die  before  we  wake, 
We  pray  thee,  Lord,  our  souls  to  take. 

But  neither  of  the  men  heard  the  end  of  the  touching 
invocation ;  before  the  words  were  hushed  the  spirits  of 
both  had  broken  their  bonds  and  followed  the  message  to 
the  bar  of  justice. 

The  morning  light  suffused  the  room,  the  break  of 
the  bitter  cold  Friday  morning,  January  ist,  1864.  The 
rising  sun's  rays  paled  the  fire-flash ;  the  shadows  van- 


Into  the  Storm  passed  the  Minister 

ished  ;  the  wild  winds  subsided,  and  excepting  the  biting 
cold  without  and  the  frozen  creatures  scattered  over  all 
the  land,  no  evidence  remained  to  tell  of  the  storm  which 
had  come  and  gone.  When  the  door  of  that  lonely 
cabin  was  opened  by  the  searchers  —  for  searchers 
started  from  Stringtown  with  the  break  of  day  —  they 
found  the  negress  hovering  over  the  embers  on  the 
hearth,  folding  in  her  embrace  a  sleeping  girl.  In  the 
rude  room,  on  the  bed  one  man  lay,  and  beside  the  bed 
another  man  kneeled,  while  between  them,  tightly  clasped 
in  the  stiff  ringers  of  him  who  kneeled,  a  child's  slate 
rested.  Over  the  upturned  surface  of  this  slate  awk 
ward  words  were  scrawled,  and  at  the  tip  of  the  index 
finger  of  the  man  on  the  bed,  him  who  clutched  the 
pencil,  they  saw  the  sign  of  the  cross. 


I  will  to  Sammy  Drew,  the 
widow's  son,  two  thousand  dol 
lars.  All  else  to  Susie,  my 
adopted  child. 

JOSEPH  HARDMAN. 

His   X 
Witness  OSMOND  JONES. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  LOOK    OUT    FO'    DE    RED-HEAD    BOY  " 

THE  spring  of  1864  came  and  passed,  the  summer's 
sun  mounted  into  the  heavens  and  shone  bright 
and  hot.  Nature  and  man  seemed  intent  on  covering 
and  removing  as  quickly  as  possible  all  traces  of  the 
disastrous  storm  that  closed  the  year  1863  and  ushered 
in  1864.  Twisted  and  broken  trees  sent  out  new 
sprouts,  which  quickly  shrouded  the  staring  scars  and 
wounds.  The  balmy  south  loaned  new  songsters  to 
lurk  in  thickets  that  had  risen  again  from  where,  on  that 
fateful  night,  brush  and  briar  had  been  beaten  against 
the  earth.  The  prolific  rabbit  had  multiplied  until  once 
more  its  tracks  were  seen  in  the  dust  of  the  pike.  The 
dove  and  the  yellow-hammer,  during  the  cruel  cold  spell 
following  the  storm,  had  left  their  haunts  and  sought  the 
barnyard  to  sit  in  huddles  upon  the  fence,  and  feed  with 
the  farmer's  fowls  about  the  feet  of  domestic  animals  ; 
but  now  again  the  one  walked  with  nodding  head  in 
the  pike  dust,  while  the  other  pecked  and  thumped 
merrily  upon  the  topmost  bough  of  the  dead  beech  in 
the  forest.  Nature  in  the  flush  of  summer  had  forgotten 
the  painful  touch  of  the  dismal  winter ;  and  when  in  the 
early  spring  men  collected  the  scattered  rails  and  rebuilt 
their  fences,  cleaned  up  the  broken  timber,  and  burned 
the  useless  brush  and  limbs,  they  too  lent  a  hand  in  the 
great  scheme  of  repair  ushered  in  by  the  lengthening 
days  and  strengthening  power  of  the  sun's  rays.  Before 


"Look  out  fo'  de  Red-head  Boy" 

the  month  of  May  had  passed,  scarcely  a  memento  was 
left  to  tell  of  the  hurricane  that  brought  distress  and 
disaster  to  a  continent.  Still,  an  occasional  reminder 
could  be  found  imbedded  in  the  luxuriant  grass  near 
Stringtown  ;  bleaching  bones  that  but  for  the  storm  of 
New  Year,  1864,  might  yet  have  been  flesh-clad,  were 
familiar  to  the  sight. 

I  stood  beside  Cupe  in  the  valley  of  a  meadow  j  a 
weather-worn  skeleton  cumbered  the  ground  at  our  feet. 
Through  the  strewn  rib^  crept  the  heads  of  a  bunch  of 
young  iron-weeds.  The  vine  of  a  wild  potato  threaded 
the  eyes  of  the  bleaching  skull ;  the  long  grass  fringed 
about  and  pierced  through  and  through  the  articulated 
vertebrae;  a  sh'n-bone  with  hoof  attached  moulded  on 
the  sward.  I  gave  the  shin  bone  a  push  with  my  bare 
foot,  and  a  swarm  of  ants,  uncovered  by  the  act,  scam 
pered  from  beneath,  each  with  a  white  larva  in  its 
mouth.  I  laughed  aloud  and  beat  the  frightened  insects 
with  a  stick  ;  the  moist  earth  became  a  pulp  of  strug 
gling  limbs  and  bodies  mixed  with  loam,  and  under  the 
rain  of  blows  the  slaughtered  innocents  were  lost  in 
common  ruin. 

The  black  man  seemed  not  to  observe  the  act;  he 
gave  no  heed  to  my  multi-crime,  but  mumbled  over  his 
thoughts : 

"  De  co'ht  am  not  fo'  niggers,  'case  niggers  ain't 
white.  Ef  a  white  man  am  drunk  an'  a  fool,  he  kin 
sw'ah  away  de  life  ob  a  nigger ;  ef  a  nigger  am  sobah  he 
ain't  got  sense  'nuff  'cordin'  to  de  co'ht  t'  tell  what  he 
knows.  What 's  de  use  ob  Cupe  goin'  t'  co'ht,  an' 
tellin'  de  truf  'bout  de  will  ob  Ma'se  ?  Cupe  am  a 
nigger,  an'  Dinah  am  a  nigger  too."  1 

i  Negroes  were  permitted  to  testify  in  Kentucky  if  negroes  only 
were  concerned,  but  in  cases  where  the  interests  of  whites  were  af 
fected,  they  were  excluded. 

91 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Dinah  saw  your  master  sign  his  name  to  the  will," 
said  I. 

"  But  she  am  a  nigger,  an*  et  doan  make  no  diff'ence 
what  she  saw ;  she  am  brack,  an'  de  co'ht  doan  take  her 
nigger  talk." 

"  Ain't  it  queer  about  that  money  ?  " 

"  Dah  ain't  nuffin  p'culiar  'bout  et.  De  witches  an* 
sperrits  wah  out  dat  night.  Fo'  de  Lawd,  when  Cupe 
go  fo'  de  doctah  de  ebenin'  ob  de  storm,  de  gol'  wah  all 
in  de  chist.  When  de  const'ble  take  p'session  ob  dat 
chist  nex'  day — dah  war  n't  nuffin'  t'  be  seen." 

The  old  negro  leaned  over  and  gazed  intently  on  the 
object  at  his  feet.  He  rested  one  foot  on  the  skull,  and 
whispered:  "  Dah  ain't  no  use  in  fightin'  Prov'dence ; 
de  sign  say  dat  de  gol'  wah  fo'  de  gearl,  an',  will  er  no 
will,  et  am  fo'  de  gearl.  Chile,  chile,  de  sperrits  what 
make  de  sign  kin  carry  'way  de  gol'. 

"  Ya,  ya,"  he  added,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  es  easy  es 
t'  pint  t'  what  's  com'n'  t'-morrah ;  an'  gloomy  am  de 
sign  what  pint  t'  Cupe  an'  yo'  !  " 

He  intent  on  his  soliloquy,  I  absorbed  in  listening, 
alike  were  oblivious  to  the  approach  of  two  men  on 
horseback,  who,  leading  a  third  horse  saddled,  but  rider 
less,  having  entered  the  field  from  the  woods  road,  neared 
our  position.  A  stick  snapping  beneath  the  hoof  of  one 
of  the  horses  caused  me  to  raise  my  head,  but  the  noise 
appeared  not  to  attract  the  attention  of  my  companion. 
The  old  negro  did  not  raise  his  eyes  from  the  face  of  the 
skull,  but  in  a  monotonous  undertone  said  :  "  Dah  am 
troubl'  fo'  Cupe  an'  yo'  too,  boy;  et  am  in  de  air  an* 
am  com'n'  fas.'  Tole  Dinah  t'  take  good  care  ob  de 
Susie  gearl  when  Cupe  am  gone,  an'  Sammy  Drew,  yo' 
look  outfo"  de  Red-Head  Boy." 

Having  ridden  to  within  a  few  steps  of  us,  one  of  the 
92 


"Look  out  fo'  de  Red-Head  Boy" 

men  alighted,  produced  a  legal  paper,  placed  his  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  Cupe  (who  now  for  the  first  time  gazed 
in  his  direction)  and  said:  "By  order  of  the  Court  I 
am  commanded  to  arrest  you,  Cupid  Hardman,  and 
secure  your  person  in  the  county  jail." 

Old  Cupe  made  no  reply.  The  sheriff  pointed  to 
the  empty  saddle.  The  black  man's  stolid  face  gave  no 
evidence  of  emotion  ;  unmoved,  he  repeated  his  former 
words  in  a  low  tone. 

"Tole  Dinah  t'  take  good  care  ob  Susie,  an'  yoj  look 
out  fo"  de  Red-Head  Boy"  Then  he  slowly  mounted  the 
horse.  The  three  turned  and  rode  away. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    ARREST    OF    CUPE 

MOTIONLESS  I  stood  over  the  dismembered  skel 
eton.  Forgotten  was  the  soliloquy  of  the  aged 
negro,  out  of  mind  his  story  of  the  past.  To  a  child  the 
name  of  the  law  is  sacred  ;  in  a  boy's  mind  an  officer  of 
the  law  stands  exalted,  above  and  beyond  the  ordinary  hiu 
man.  Slowly  the  three  men  on  horseback  receded  in  the 
distance,  while  I  gazed  at  them  with  hand-shaded  eyes. 
Their  horses  walked  with  downcast  heads  through  the 
long  meadow  grass,  but  when  the  fence  that  bounded 
the  woods-road  was  reached  and  the  bars  were  "  put  up" 
a  brisk  pace  replaced  the  walk,  and  soon  the  figures  dis 
appeared.  Neither  of  the  men  cast  a  look  backward ; 
not  even  when  waiting  for  the  dismounted  officer  to 
replace  the  bars  did  Cupe  give  a  glance  in  my  direction. 
Just  before  their  forms  vanished  in  the  shadows  of  the 
drooping  beeches  a  melodious  howl  arose  in  the  dis 
tance —  a  cry  that  one  who  has  heard  the  notes  of  a 
Southern  darkey's  dog  can  appreciate  —  and  all  was  still 
again.  Then,  and  not  until  then,  did  I  move,  but  as 
the  three  passed  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  I  turned  and 
followed  a  sheep  path  that  led  in  the  opposite  direction  - 
across  the  meadow,  around  the  neck  of  a  tangled  thicket, 
through  a  woodland  pasture,  where,  mounting  a  slight 
hill,  I  came  within  sight  of  a  log  cabin  that  rested  on  the 
slope  beyond  the  summit.  Bare  and  desolate,  the  trunk 
of  i  talL,  shell-bark  hickory  tree,  with  top  broken  off  fifty 

04 


The  Arrest  of    Cupe 

feet  from  the  earth,  stood  near  by,  a  relic  of  the  New 
Year  storm  !  A  square  enclosure  in  the  garden  behind 
the  house  was  marked  by  a  group  of  little  mounds,  on 
one  of  which,  shaded  by  a  cedar  tree,  the  grass  was 
younger  and  of  a  brighter  green  than  on  the  others  ;  these 
were  the  most  conspicuous  objects  about  the  cabin. 

An  aged  negress,  her  head  bound  in  a  red  bandanna 
handkerchief,  sat  inside,  with  a  child,  on  her  knee.  She 
was  combing  the  long,  dark  locks  of  the  little  girl,  at  the 
same  time  singing  in  a  rasping  tone  a  weird  ditty  that 
only  persons  reared  by  or  among  the  blacks  could  have 
understood.  Unseen,  I  stood  silent,  looking  at  the  two 
figures  ;  but  my  shadow  striking  across  the  floor  caused 
the  old  woman  to  turn  quickly. 

"  Come  in  off  dat  doah-sill !  What  fo'  yo'  dare  do 
sech  a  fool  ting  es  t'  come  t'  a  fren's  house  an*  stop  in 
de  open  doah  ?  Yo'  bring  trouble  on  de  fam'ly  suah  by 
sech  actin'  up." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  there  is  trouble,  Aunt  Dinah." 

u  Come  in  off  dat  doah-sill,  I  tole  yo',  an*  took  a 
cheer.  Doan  make  de  trouble  wussah  dan  it  am,  ef 
dah  am  trouble  on  yoah  min'." 

I  entered  the  room  and  seated  myself  on  a  shuck- 
bottomed  chair. 

"  Now  fo'  yoah  trouble.     What  am  it  ?  " 

"  Cupe  has  been  arrested." 

The  old  negress  dropped  her  comb  and  gazed  at  me 
in  wonder. 

"  Spoke  ag'in,  chile." 

"  Cupe  has  been  arrested." 

"What  fool  stuff  yo'  gibin'  me?  What  fo'  should 
Cupe  be  'rested  ?  De  chicken  house  am  full  ob  fowl, 
de  pastyah  am  alibe  wid  sheep  an'  pigs,  de  turkey  talk 
all  day  t*  de  grasshoppah,  an'  de  guiney-hen  cry  c  pot- 

95 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

rack,  pot-rack  '  all  night  'roun'  dis  cabin.  De  bah'l  ob 
flour  an'  de  meal  sack  am  full,  an'  de  fat  sides  an'  de 
hams  am  drippin'  grease  in  de  smokehouse.  What 
moah  do  any  nigger  wan'  ?  What  lyin'  fool  wah  et 
who  'rest  Cupe  ?  " 

"The  sheriff  of  the  county." 

"  Lawd  !   Lawd  !  but  wah  it  not  de  const'ble  ?  " 

"No,  it  was  the  sheriff." 

u  Fo'  de  Lawd,  de  case  am  ser'ous,  suah  !  De 
sheriff  don't  trabel  'bout  cotchin'  niggers  what  grab  a 
chicken  fo'  de  toofache." 

Gradually  the  gravity  of  the  case  dawned  upon  the 
mind  of  the  old  crone,  but  only  to  increase  her  inco 
herent  wrath.  She  engaged  in  a  tirade  of  abuse,  ques 
tionings  and  jabberings  in  which  the  sheriff,  the  law,  the 
liars  (unknown)  who  had  defamed  Cupe,  and  lastly  poor 
old  Cupe  himself,  came  in  each  for  a  full  share  of 
vituperation. 

Finding  myself  neglected,  I  turned  to  depart ;  but  now 
the  negress,  quieting  her  jargon  as  suddenly  as  she  had 
begun,  said  :  "  Yo'  mus'  eat  a  bite,  chile.  Dinah  mus'n' 
fergit  her  mannahs  even  ef  yo'  did  bring  trouble.  Sit  a 
minit  an'  eat  a  bite." 

"I  didn't  bring  trouble,  Aunt  Dinah;  the  trouble 
came  before  I  saw  you." 

u  Did  n't  yo'  come  t'  a  fren's  house  an*  stan'  in  de 
open  doah  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  that  did  not  make  the  trouble,  for  Cupe 
was  arrested  before  I  came." 

"  Yo'  doan  know  nuffin'  'bout  sech  tings  an'  yo'  ain't 
golified  t'  speak.  De  doah-sill  sign  kin  work  boff 
ways.  Ef  a  ting  es,  et  es,  an'  fool  argyments  ob  pussons 
what  doan  know  de  sign's  powah  can't  change  de  fac's. 
Doan  yoj  stan'  on  de  doah-sill,  I  axes  ?  " 

96 


The  Arrest  of  Cupe 

"Yes." 

"  Doan  de  trouble  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  —  " 

u  De  sign  wah  workin'  backward,  chile;  close  yo' 
mouf  wid  dese  wittles." 

She  quickly  placed  a  dish  of  honey,  a  loaf  of  salt- 
rising  light  bread  and  a  glass  of  milk  upon  the  clean 
table,  and  once  more  I  ate  in  that  cabin  which  it  seemed 
my  footsteps  could  not  evade.  The  girl  sat  quietly  and 
eyed  me  ;  did  she  remember  my  former  visit  ?  During 
the  repast  I  gave  Dinah  full  particulars  concerning 
Cupe's  arrest. 

As  I  arose  to  depart  Dinah  asked  :  "  An'  what  word 
did  Cupe  send  t'  Dinah  ?  " 

"  He  said  :  '  Tell  Dinah  to  take  good  care  of  the 
Susie  child.'  " 

Dinah  seemed  pleased  with  the  trust ;  then  she 
whispered  :  "  An'  what  did  he  say  to  yo',  chile  ?  " 

u  He  told  me  to  '  Beware  of  the  Red-Head  Boy,'  but 
I  don't  know  what  he  meant." 

"  Yo'  will  know  some  day,  honey  ;  yo'  will  know  to 
yoah  sorrah  some  day." 

She  leaned  over  and  spoke  in  a  low,  guttural  tone : 
"  De  day  ob  trouble  am  com'n',  an'  de  Red-Head  Boy 
am  mixed  in  de  ebil  sign.  Cupe  read  de  omen,  an'  et 
say  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  an'  Susie  an'  yo,'  chile,  am 
edgin'  on  t'  sahtin  defF.  Et  say  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  '11 
die  sudden  an'  dat  yo'  an'  Susie  '11  be  de  cause ;  an'  dat 
yo  '11  die  sudden,  an'  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  an'  Susie  '11 
be  de  cause." 

"  How  did  he  read  it,  Aunt  Dinah  ?  " 

"  He  read  et  in  de  glass,  de  sign  glass  what  p'ints  t'  de 
act  dat  ain't  been  acted." 

"  And  what  of  Susie,  Aunt  Dinah  ?  " 
7  97 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

tt  De  sighn  wah  monstrous  cu'yus  'bout  de  gearl.  Cup« 
read  dc  omen  twice ;  et  wah  monstrous  cu'yus." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Dinah." 

u  De  honey  gearl  wah  alibe  suah,  but  folks  looks  at 
her  es  ef  she  wah  dead.  She  wah  suah  alibe,  an*  she 
wah  dead." 

"  How  could  she  be  alive  and  dead,  too  ?  " 

u  Dat  am  what  trouble  Cupe.  De  sign  say  she  am 
dead  an*  dat  she  am  gone  out  ob  de  worl',  but  suah  she 
am  still  alibe.  She  wah  walkin'  an*  a  talkin'  aftah  de 
sign  p'int  t'  her  bein'  gone  from  out  de  worl'.  Dere 
wah  a  shaddah  on  de  face  ob  de  glass,  de  shaddah  ob  a 
great  big  Cross." 

u  You  're  fooling,  Aunt  Dinah  ;  how  could  each  of 
us  boys  and  Susie  be  the  cause  of  the  death  of  one 
another  ?  That  cannot  be." 

"  Deed,  chile,  I  ain't  foolin',  et  am  de  p'intin'  ob  de 
sign.  Et  can't  be  done,  yo'  say,  but  de  sign  say  et  mus' 
be  done,  an'  Cupe  say  et  will  be  done.  But  de  omen 
say  dat  befo'  de  fulfilment  ob  de  spell  in  de  time  t*  come 
de  Red-Head  Boy  mus'  sit  alone  in  de  cabin  ob  Susie. 
Lis'en,  chile ;  dah  ain't  no  harm  t*  come  till  he  sit  all 
alone  in  Susie's  cheer  in  de  night." 

Too  well  acquainted  with  the  superstitions  of  the 
negroes  to  consider  seriously  this  prophetic  outburst,  I 
smiled  and  turned  to  depart. 

The  old  crone  stepped  outside  the  doorway,  took  me 
by  the  hand,  and  looked  me  steadily  in  the  face. 

tt  AM'  Dinah  say  too,  watch  out  J 0'  de  Red-Head  Boy" 


CHAPTER   XIV 

COURT    DAY 

QTRINGTOWN  is  situated  eight  miles  from  the 
O  "  county  seat  "  of  Stringtown  County,  where  stood 
the  county  jail.  In  order  to  reach  this  important  spot, 
the  traveller  from  Stringtown  follows  the  Mt.  Carmel 
pike  to  Mt.  Carmel  Church,  and  then  branches  to  the 
Turkey  Foot  road,  which  follows  a  creek  bed  four  miles 
to  its  source.  On  the  summit  of  this  rise  stands  the 
village  honoured  by  holding  the  court-house  of  Stringtown 
County. 

Like  other  county  seats  in  Kentucky,  at  the  time 
under  consideration  this  was  subject  several  times  a  year 
to  the  flow  and  ebb  of  a  human  tide.  The  tide  was 
high  in  Court  week,  but  during  the  intermediate  periods 
stagnation  prevailed. 

At  the  time  of  Quarterly  Court,  in  June,  from  every 
section  of  the  county,  on  the  first  day  of  Court  week, 
men  on  horseback  could  be  seen  "  going  to  Court." 
These  as  a  rule  started  in  pairs,  or  parties  of  three  or 
four ;  but  as  they  journeyed  onward  the  byways  merged 
into  main  roads  and  the  isolated  groups  upon  them  co 
alesced  until,  when  the  village  was  reached,  a  steady 
stream  of  horsemen  came  pouring  into  its  main  avenue. 

In  this  county  seat,  even  to  the  very  day  before  Court 
convened,  stagnation  ruled  supreme.  The  two  grocery- 
stores  were  open  for  traffic  between  Court  periods,  but 

99 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

attracted  none  but  home  patrons  ;  the  two  taverns  were 
ready  for  business,  but  even  their  bar-rooms  were  quiet 
and  the  long  rows  of  shed  stalls  adjacent  to  each  tavern 
were  empty,  and  the  horse  racks  in  front  of  the  groceries 
and  the  taverns  were  vacant.  The  court-house,  built 
like  a  church,  excepting  that  it  was  the  proud  possessor 
of  a  second  story  and  four  whitewashed  round  brick  pil 
lars  in  front,  stood,  the  day  before  Court,  with  closed 
eyes ;  the  iron  gate  was  locked,  the  pepper-grass  and 
shepherd's-purse  grew  high  and  luxuriant  between  the 
flat-rock  paving  stones,  and  the  dog-fennel  covered  the 
edges  and  far  into  the  street  unmolested  even  about 
the  long  rows  of  horse  racks  that  bounded  u  Court- 
House  Square." 

In  the  early  morning,  each  hot  summer  day,  a  little 
business  was  done  in  each  store  ;  the  barkeepers  found 
occasion  to  wash  a  few  glasses  and  bruise  a  little  mint; 
the  barefooted  boy  drove  his  cow  to  and  from  the  pas 
ture,  and  a  smell  of  frying  ham  or  bacon  and  browning 
corn-bread  or  biscuit  hung  at  breakfast  time  about  each 
residence.  But  as  the  sun  mounted  into  the  sky  a  uni 
versal  lethargy  settled  over  the  scorching  village,  and 
not  until  the  slanting  shadows  of  evening  fell  did  life 
reappear. 

The  idle  sojourner  might  spend  his  time  in  this  lazy 
village,  and  between  Court  periods,  even  to  the  day 
before  Court,  find  nothing  more  exciting  than  an  occa 
sional  dog  fight,  unless,  perchance,  it  were  a  quarrel 
between  the  owners  of  the  dogs. 

Lazily  the  sun  came  up  the  day  before  Court  ;  lazily 
the  inhabitants  of  this  sluggish  village  moved,  when  they 
did  move ;  lazily  the  stray  pig  meandered  along  the  side 
of  the  unpaved  streets,  picking  up  an  occasional  morsel ; 
lazily  a  flock  of  gabbling  geese  waddled  through  the 

IOO 


Court  Day 

dusty  road  seeking  the  nearly  dried  creek  bed  adjacent 
to  the  village  ;  lazily  the  unshaven  barkeeper,  with  closed 
eyes,  sat  before  the  inn  on  the  flat  stone  pavement  in  his 
tipped-back  chair.  One  could  not  easily  have  found  a 
creature  in  this  village  that  was  not  infected  by  the  lazy 
sun,  which,  day  after  day,  crept  through  the  sky  and 
leisurely  sank  toward  the  earth  into  the  tree  tops,  glow 
ing  a  second  through  the  branches,  seemingly  undeter 
mined  whether  it  were  not  best  to  pause  awhile  upon 
earth's  edge  before  dropping  over  and  rolling  out  of 
sight. 

Opening  of  Court  day  brought  a  change.  Bustle  in 
and  confusion  about  the  tavern.  The  long  dining-room 
tables  were  "  set  "  by  break  of  day ;  the  kitchen  stove 
was  red  and  furious,  the  negro  servants  moved  as  if  they 
actually  enjoyed  motion  ;  piles  of  vegetables,  a  quarter  of 
beef  and  several  boiled  hams  spoke  of  the  coming  feast. 
The  freshly  shaven  barkeeper,  with  freshly  filled  bottles 
and  a  pile  of  freshly  cleaned  glasses,  no  longer  sat  beside 
the  door  in  the  tipped-back  chair ;  he  too  was  ready  for 
action.  The  iron  gates  that  barred  the  main  entrance 
of  the  court-house  yard  were  open  and  the  windows  to 
that  "  Hall  of  Justice  "  were  unshuttered.  Even  the 
stray  geese  had  moved  to  other  scenes,  the  wandering 
pig  had  not  been  loosed  that  morning,  and  the  boy  had 
come  and  gone  with  his  cow  before  the  sun  had  risen. 
The  village  was  awake  and  the  very  buildings  themselves 
took  on  a  different  air  —  the  residents  were  in  touch 
with  life  again  and  eager  for  the  coming  fray.  The 
word  fray  is  not  inappropriate,  for  many  were  the  men 
who  had  ridden  to  this  court-house  on  horseback  and 
returned  home  in  an  improvised  spring  wagon  hearse ; 
many  have  been  the  feuds  that,  argued  in  the  Court  of 
Stringtown  County's  capital  by  the  mouths  of  the  law- 

IOI 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

yers,  have  been   settled,  immediately    after   the    Court 
adjourned,  in  the  street  by  the  mouths  of  pistols. 

Men  came  to  Court,  antagonists  led  to  enmity  by 
some  trifling  incident,  and  grouped  themselves  into  clus 
ters  ;  one  clan  went  to  Jim  White's  tavern,  the  other 
went  to  Jo  Sweet's.  They  stood  in  separate  groups  about 
the  streets,  and  scowled,  but  did  not  speak  when  first 
they  chanced  to  meet ;  they  visited  their  respective  bar 
rooms  again,  and  grew  surlier  and  thought  meaner 
things  with  each  uplifted  glass  ;  now  they  growled  when 
group  met  group  and  looked  defiantly  at  each  other; 
another  visit  to  the  tavern,  and  when  the  antagonistic 
groups  next  came  together  their  tongues  were  loosened, 
pistols  flashed  in  the  sunlight,  and  another  "  case  "  was 
made  for  the  opposing  lawyers  to  beat  the  air  over  at 
the  next  term  of  Court. 


f02 


CHAPTER   XV 

STRINGTOWN    JAIL 

INTO  Stringtown  County  Seat  from  the  flat  Creek 
road  the  three  horsemen  rode  leisurely  towards  the 
county  jail.  As  they  passed,  a  boy  swinging  on  a  grape 
vine  that  dangled  from  a  hackberry  tree  near  the  first 
house  by  the  roadside  gave  a  yell  that  carried  with  it  the 
information  that  only  a  country  boy  can  put  into  a 
wordless  cry.  Immediately  from  the  house  a  number 
of  faces  peered,  some  black,  others  white,  and  yet,  aside 
from  the  cry  of  the  boy,  no  other  voice  was  heard. 
Scampering  from  his  place,  he  ran  after  the  passing 
horsemen,  following  their  footsteps  in  the  dust ;  the  yell 
of  the  boy  was  repeated  as  house  after  house  was  neared, 
and  a  flash  of  faces  could  be  seen  in  the  windows  ;  an 
occasional  female  form,  perhaps  with  broom  in  hand  as 
an  excuse  for  outdoor  appearance,  stood  motionless  on 
the  front  porch  ;  a  gathering  of  boys  thronged  about 
the  heels  of  the  horsemen,  and  old  Cupe,  well  known 
to  every  person  of  that  village,  became  the  centre  of 
attraction. 

Time  and  again  had  he  ridden  on  horseback  into  that 
village  unnoticed  ;  but  now,  he  was  stared  at  by  men  and 
women,  followed  by  hooting  boys  and  preceded  by 
snarling  dogs,  for  each  boy  owned  a  dog,  which,  as  his 
young  master  fell  into  line,  sprang  from  cover  and 
joined  the  four-footed  advance-guard.  Thus  Cupe, 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

with  his  snow-white  beard,  his  bleached  woolly  pate, 
his  shiny,  wrinkled  face,  his  garments  of  patches  of 
many  colours,  was  ushered  to  the  jail  of  Stringtown 
County.  The  troop  of  snapping  dogs,  that  included  in 
its  membership  every  species,  from  a  short,  bench-legged 
fice  to  one  gaunt  coon  hound,  moved  in  front ;  on  either 
side  of  the  prisoner  rode  an  officer  of  the  law,  while 
behind  came  the  troop  of  urchins,  black  and  white. 
The  advance-guard  needed  no  director  ;  on  they  went 
to  the  blind  street  that  led  to  the  county-jail ;  into  this 
the  troop  of  dogs  turned,  and  simultaneously  arranged 
themselves  about  the  entrance  to  the  jail.  Too  well  did 
they,  dumb  brutes  as  they  were,  know  the  ending  of  the 
journey  of  these  horsemen.  Then,  amid  the  clustering 
of  boys  and  dogs,  the  three  horsemen  dismounted  and 
pressed  their  way  through  the  gaping  crowd.  A  heavy 
knocking  at  the  door  brought  the  u  Innkeeper,"  who 
signed  a  paper  handed  him  by  the  sheriff;  the  form  of 
the  black  man  vanished  within  the  gloomy  structure; 
the  two  officers  remounted,  and,  leading  the  riderless 
horse,  turned  back  toward  the  world  without  ;  the  boys 
and  dogs  scampered  after  them,  and  the  back  street  was 
vacated  by  every  creature  —  with  one  exception.  The 
great,  gaunt,  old  coon  hound,  with  lank  sides,  made  no 
movement  when  the  others  departed ;  he  stood  with 
drooping  ears  and  uplifted  nose  silently  facing  the  door 
by  which  the  negro  had  entered.  His  nostrils  sniffed 
the  air,  his  ungainly  tail  slowly  wagged  back  and  forth, 
his  long,  red  tongue  lolled  from  between  two  ivory  incis 
ors,  and  from  its  tip  an  occasional  drop  of  spittle  fell 
upon  the  earth.  Motionless  he  stood  with  eyes  set  upon 
the  grim  door;  and  then,  closing  them,  he  pointed  his 
nose  straight  upward,  and  from  his  throat  a  long,  plain 
tive  howl  arose  that,  beginning  low  and  weird,  reached 

104 


Stringtown  Jail 


to  a  height  seldom  heard  from  hound's  throat,  and  then, 
descending,  died  away  in  plaintive  sadness.  Again  the 
dog  howled  and  listened ;  and  not  hearing  a  reply,  again, 
louder  than  before,  he  bayed  the  silent  door.  This  last 
appeal  seemed  to  bring  an  answer,  but  one  that  human 
ear  could  not  have  caught.  Turning  from  his  place, 
the  animal  crossed  the  narrow  street  and  carefully 
selected  a  bed  of  thick  dog-fennel  beneath  a  clump  of 
wild  black-currant  bushes,  turned  "three  times  'round," 
sinking  each  time  lower  than  before,  and  then  dropped 
upon  the  earth  and  curled  himself  into  a  heap,  where 
with  eyes  closed,  his  sentinel  nose  pointing  toward  the 
new  home  of  his  old  master,  he  lay  motionless. 

The  jailer  conducted  Cupe  to  the  second  story  of  the 
jail  and  halted  before  one  of  the  back  cells. 

"  Ef  et  am  pert'nent  t'  de  yocasion,"  said  Cupe, 
"  befo'  yo'  go  t'  de  trouble  ob  openin'  de  doah,  de  pris'nah 
ud  ax  a  quistion." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  jailer. 

"  Fo'  some  fo'ks  dis  heah  room  am  all  dat  kin  be 
'spected,  but  fo'  me,  ef  ct  am  de  same  t'  yo',  a  front 
room  am  moah  t'  de  taste." 

The  jailer  thrust  his  key  into  the  lock. 

u  Yo'  know  bery  well  dat  Cupe  am  not  gwine  t'  make 
yo'  no  trouble,  an'  he  doan  ax  no—  "  the  negro  stopped, 
put  his  hand  to  his  ear,  as  if  listening  to  a  sound  un 
heard  by  the  jailer — it  was  the  mournful  howl  of  his 
old  hound  —  then  gave  a  sharp,  penetrating  whistle,  and 
continued  his  sentence  —  u  lux'ry.  Ef  de  front  room 
am  empty,  et  won't  cost  yo'  nuffin'  moah  t'  open  an* 
lock  dat  doah  instead  ob  dis  heah  doah.  A  doah  am  a 
doah  t'  de  man  what  opens  it,  but  dah  am  reasons  t'  de 
man  what  rests  in  de  room  fo'  wantin'  t'  be  behind  one 
doah  instead  ob  'nuddah." 

105 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

u  Well,  I  don't  see  what  's  the  use  of  growling  at  this 
room,"  said  the  jailer. 

"  De  fac'  am,  Ma'se  Kindum,"  said  the  negro,  quick 
to  observe  that  in  getting  a  reply  he  had  gained  a  point, 
u  dat  Cupe  am  not  growlin'  at  de  room,  but  at  de  place 
de  room  sits  in.  Ef  de  sunshine  an'  de  moonlight  could 
come  into  de  room  yo'  hab  s'lected  fo'  Cupe,  dah 
would  n't  be  no  sort  ob  argyment.  But  Cupe  hab  seen 
de  sunshine  an'  de  moonlight  all  ob  his  life,  an'  he  doan 
know  jes  how  long  a  spell  he  '11  be  heah.  Yo'  hab 
knowed  Uncle  Cupe  sense  yo'  wah  a  chile,  Ma'se  Kin 
dum  ;  yoah  chilluns  know  him  too,  an'  doan  knows  no 
hahm  ob  him  needah." 

The  jailer  withdrew  the  key,  led  Cupe  to  the  front  of 
the  building  and  opened  one  of  the  two  front  rooms. 

With  tattered  hat  in  hand  the  negro  bowed  and  cour- 
tesied  as  only  one  of  the  old  black  uncles  of  Kentucky 
could  do,  but  his  profuse  thanks  were  largely  lost  upon 
the  jailer,  who  without  a  word  turned  and  departed. 

Stepping  to  the  barred  window,  Cupe  remarked  :  a  De 
sunshine  an*  de  moonlight  am  monstrous  thin  when  dese 
heah  windahs  am  considahd,  an*  et  am  cut  inter  slices 
by  de  iron  bars,  but  Cupe  hain't  done  nuffin'  t*  make 
him  afeard  ob  light  what  shine  cleah  in  de  sky  er  froo 
cross  bars  eider.  'Sides,  he  wan'  t*  talk  t'  his  fren* ;  " 
and  pressing  his  sable  face  against  the  bars  old  Cupe  gazed 
intently  up  and  down  the  street.  a  Et  am  monstrous 
strange,"  he  murmured,  "  ef  Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  hab 
gone  back  on  Cupe."  Presently  his  aged  eyes  caught 
sight  of  a  weed  in  the  opposite  fence  corner  that,  as  his 
voice  sounded,  began  to  vibrate  as  if  uniform  blows  were 
being  struck  upon  it,  and  peering  at  the  clump  of  dog- 
fennel  at  its  base  he  made  out  the  curled-up  form  of  his 
faithful  dog,  who,  with  beating  tail,  raised  nose  and  open 

1 06 


Stringtown  Jail 

eyes,  was  staring  at  the  face  of  his  master.  "  Yo*  am 
only  a  dawg,"  said  Cupe,  "  but  yo'  may  hab  work  t*  do, 
Dgawge  Wash'tiYn,  befo*  yoah  teef  git  dull ;  put  yoah 
head  down  an*  stop  yoah  tail,  an*  keep  yoah  strength 
ready  fo*  de  time  ob  need." 


to? 


CHAPTER   XVI 

CUPE    IN    JAIL 

THUS  the  jail  life  of  these  two  friends  began  ;  one 
contented  outside  the  bars,  chained  by  love  to  him 
within  the  cell  ;  the  other,  seemingly  not  less  contented, 
behind  the  grating.  Loquacious  Cupe  and  howling 
"  Dgawge  WashVt'n  "  both  grew  silent  under  the  con 
ditions  of  their  fate.  The  negro  became  sullen  and 
refused  to  talk  concerning  his  "  case " ;  and  all  the 
spirit  seemed  to  have  left  the  dog,  who  lived  on  day  after 
day  seemingly  without  food,  but  only  seemingly,  for  the 
hound  of  Kentucky  knows  how  to  prowl  at  night.  An 
attorney  had  been  provided  by  the  Court  to  defend 
Cupe,  but  the  old  darkey  declined  positively,  although 
politely,  to  answer  any  question  or  make  any  statement 
beyond  the  fact  that  "  es  the  Co'ht  did  n't  git  no  'vice 
from  him  t'  begin  wid  et  did  n't  need  none  t'  end  wid. 
Ef  de  Co'ht  doan  know  its  own  business,  et  ain't  fo' 
Cupe  t'  teach  et." 

"  But  my  object  is  to  help  you." 

u  Then,  Mr.  Lawyer,  yo'  may  es  well  spar'  yoah 
breff,  fo'  Cupe  doan  need  no  help.  He  hain't  done 
nuffin'  t'  be  'scused  fo',  he  hain't  stolen  noh  hid  no 
money,  an'  he  doan  'tend  t'  hab  no  'scuses  made  by 
lawyahs  fo'  what  he  hain't  done." 

"  But  you  admit  that  the  money  was  stolen  ?  " 

"Yo'  am  de  man  what  say  so  —  not  me.     Ef  Cupe 


Cupe  in  Jail 

had  said  de  money  wah  stolen  he  would  help  find  de 
t'ief.  But  de  fac's  am  Cupe  doan  'tend  t'  'fy  Prov'dence. 
De  law  am  mighty,  but  de  spell  an'  de  sign  am  mightier, 
;  n'  yo'  kin  tear  dis  nigger's  eyes  out  befo'  he  will  cross 
de  workin'  ob  de  sacred  spell.  De  money  am  gone,  Mr. 
Lawyer,  et  am  not  t'  be  seen,  an'  et  will  stay  gone  until 
de  sign  come  right  fo'  et  t'  come  back." 

"  If  the  sign  don't  come  right  before  Court  opens,  you 
will  go  to  Frankfort  Penitentiary,  Cupe." 

"  Dah  am  honest  men  in  de  penitentiary  an'  t'ieves 
loose  on  de  outside,  Mr.  Lawyer,  an'  yo'  can't  make 
Cupe  try  t'  sarcumvent  de  signs  by  no  sech  argyment  es 
dat." 

The  days  passed.  A  few  weeks  would  bring  the  con 
vening  of  the  Court.  Not  one  word  would  Cupe  say 
concerning  the  problem  as  to  the  disappearance  of  the 
money,  that  much-talked-about  gold.  At  last  the  per 
plexed  lawyer  conferred  with  Judge  Elford,  of  String- 
town,  concerning  the  case,  and  that  personage  made  a 
visit  to  the  jail  and  appealed  to  the  stubborn  prisoner. 
He  was  ushered  into  the  cell  of  his  humble  friend,  who 
appeared  to  be  very  much  surprised  at  the  honour  ex 
tended  by  the  unexpected  visitor,  but  quickly  recovering 
his  wonted  presence  of  mind,  his  first  act  was  to  apolo 
gise  for  the  barrenness  of  his  temporary  residence. 

"  Yo'  mus'  'scuse  de  poverty  ob  de  s Yndings,  Ma'se 
Elford,  'case  de  fittin's  ob  de  room  am  fo'  pussons  what 
doan  keer  fo'  lux'ries.  Ef  yo'  had  'nounced  de  fac'  dat 
yo'  'tended  t'  call,  de  conveniences  would  hab  been  sech 
es  de  yocasion  demands." 

u  Never  mind  the  room,  Cupe ;  I  came  to  talk  with 
you." 

"'Deed,  Ma'se,  yo'  'sprise  de  ole  nigger;  take  de 
cheer." 

109 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

The  judge  seated  himself  in  the  only  chair  the  cell 
afforded,  and  Cupe  stood  expectant  before  him. 

"Cupe,  your  attorney  informs  me  that  you  refused  to 
give  him  information  concerning  the  lost  money.  Now 
you  know  that  I  am  your  friend,  and  I  have  come  from 
Stringtown  expressly  to  advise  you  to  tell  everything  you 
know  about  it." 

"Yo'  am  my  fren',  Ma'se  Elford,  'deed  yo'  is,  an' 
Cupe  hab  known  yo'  sense  yoah  muddah  held  yo'  on  her 
knee.  When  Cupe  first  saw  yo',  yo'  wah  a  baby  in  de 
ahm,  an'  now  yoah  hair  am  white." 

"True,  Cupid,  true." 

u  An'  no  man  in  all  dis  county  ebah  say  a  word  ob 
wrong  'g'inst  yo',  Ma'se  Elford.  Yo'  am  a  fren'  t' 
Cupe,  yo'  say,  an'  Cupe  say,  no  bettah  fren'  could  Cupe 
hab." 

"  Then,  Cupe,  do  as  I  direct  and  befriend  yourself." 

u  An'  what  do  yo'  'vise  ?  " 

"  Tell  your  attorney  all  you  know  concerning  this 
matter.  You  are  in  a  serious  position  and  in  great 
danger  of  going  to  the  penitentiary  for  life." 

"  Yo'  doan  mean  it,  Ma'se  Elford  ? "  Cupe  said 
appeal  ingly. 

u  Yes,  I  mean  that  unless  you  tell  all  you  know  and 
assist  in  recovering  this  money  it  will  be  my  painful  duty 
to  sentence  you  to  the  penitentiary." 

"  Et  ain't  de  pen'tensh'ry,  Cupe  don't  keer  fo'  de  pen'- 
tensh'ry,  it  am  de  sah'ful  'vice  yo'  gib.  What  hab  Cupe 
done  t'  yo',  Ma'se,  fo'  t'  make  yo'  ax  him  t'  steal  ? " 

u  Cupe  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  man,  "  I  ask  you 
to  steal  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  De  money  am  not  fo'  Cupe,  et  am  not  fo'  de  law- 
yah,  et  am  fo'  de  chile.  De  spell  say  so,  an'  whoevah 
bre'k  de  workin'  ob  de  spell  steal  from  de  poo'  chile. 

no 


Cupe  in  Jail 


Ma'se,  yo'  memberlec'  de  day  dat  Cupe  wait  on  de  table 
when  yoah  wed'in'  wah  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  An*  yo'  memberlec'  when  de  missus  yo'  lub  wah 
buried  in  de  earf,  he  stan'  by  de  grabe  wid  de  strap  in  his 
han'.  Yo'  memberlec'  what  Cupe  say  den  ?  Es  de 
pahson  read  out  ob  de  good  book  an'  close  de  page  an' 
raise  his  eyes  an'  say,  c  Earf  to  earf  an'  dust  to  dust,'  de 
shaddah  ob  a  cloud  rise  sudden  like,  an'  de  great  drops 
ob  rain  spattah  obah  de  coffin  lid,  an'  dey  keeps  a-fallin' 
while  de  shiney  coffin  case  wah  bein'  sot  down  into  de 
grabe,  an'  when  Cupe  rise  up  from  holdin'  de  head-strap 
yo'  wah  lookin'  inte'  Cupe's  face.  An'  den  what  did 
Cupe  say  ? " 

u  c  Blessed  are  the  dead  the  rain  falls  on,'  "  replied  the 
Judge.  "  I  remember  very  well  how  you  said  that  to 
me  then." 

"An*  so  do  Cupe.  An'  when  Cupe  comes  t'  die, 
Ma'se,  he  doan  wan'  no  ebil  sign  t'  follow  him  inte'  de 
tome." 

"Of  course  not,  Cupe." 

"  Ma'se,  yo'  'spect  t'  go  t'  meet  de  sweet  gearl  de  rain 
fell  on  when  yo'  kneel  in  de  yallah  dirt  an'  bow  de 
head  ?  " 

"  God  knows  I  do,  Cupe." 

"  An'  what  hab  Cupe  done  dat  yo'  should  ax  him  t? 
go  t'  de  debbil  —  what  hab  de  ole  nigger  done  t'  yo', 
Ma'se  Elford  ? " 

"Nothing,  Cupid — nothing.  I  know  too  well  your 
faithful  heart  to  see  you  suffer  as  you  surely  must  unless 
you  assist  the  law  in  clearing  up  this  mystery,  which  I 
firmly  believe  you  can  do." 

"  Ma'se  Elford,  Cupe  kin  'scuse  yo'  de  sin  yo'  ax 
Cupe  t'  do  'case  yo'  doan  know  what  Cupe  know  an' 

ill 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

can't  see  de  ebil  ob  yoah  words ;  but,  de  gol*  am  fo'  de 
gearl,  an'  t'  dat  yinnercent  chile  it  mus'  go.  De  spell 
am  workin'  out  'cordin'  t'  de  sign,  an'  ef  de  law  pull 
Cupe's  arm  an'  leg  off,  ef  et  buhn  de  flesh  an'  scotch  de 
bone  ob  de  ole  nigger,  no  word  will  he  say  t'  blame  yo'. 
Ef  yo'  be  de  jedge  t'  hab  et  done,  no  cry  shall  come 
from  Cupe.  But  when  yo'  ax  Cupe  t'  bre'k  de  workin' 
ob  de  sacred  spell  yo'  raise  de  debbil  t'  burn  de  nigger's 
soul.  De  sweet  missus  what  die  wid  her  han'  in  Cupe's 
han',  in  de  long  day  back,  an'  a  troop  ob  angels,  am  on 
de  uddah  shore,  an'  when  Cupe  lay  down  an'  die,  an' 
his  sperrit  go  t'  de  shinin'  Ian'  he  mus'  say  t'  de  angel 
missus,  '  Cupe  did  his  duty  by  de  chile  yo'  left,  an'  he 
stan'  faithful  by  de  chile  Susie  what  come  in  his  place.' 
Ma'se  Elford,  yo'  am  pow'ful  welcome  in  de  present 
'bidin'  place  ob  Cupe,  but  ef  yo'  keer  fo'  de  feelin's  ob 
de  ole  brack  man,  doan  ax  him  t'  steal  money  from  de 
orfun  chile,  doan  ax  him  t'  lose  de  sweet  smile  ob  de 
deah  missus  what  die  in  de  ole  mansion  ob  de  long-ago. 
De  breezes  ob  summer  am  pleasant  t'  a  brack  skin,  de 
sunshine  feel  good  t'  de  wrinkled  face,  but  de  pen'tenshry 
am  cool,  an'  de  nigger  am  used  t'  work,  an'  ef  he  die  in 
de  prison  standin'  up  fo'  de  right  ob  de  orfun,  he  will 
step  out  ob  de  prison  shade  int'  de  sunshine  ob  Heaben." 

The  man  of  law  was  abashed  and  silenced  by  the 
rebuke  of  the  unlettered  negro.  He  saw  that  no  living 
man  could  influence  the  fanatical  slave.  Rising,  the 
judge  held  out  his  hand. 

"  T'ank  yo',  Ma'se  Elford  fo'  lis'nin'  t'  de  argyment 
ob  de  ole  nigger,  but  et  bre'ks  his  heart  t'  hab  vo'  go 
widout  takin'  a  drink  ob  milk  er  a  drop  ob  sump'n'. 
Howsumebbah,  yo'  will  'scuse  de  barrenness  ob  de 
yocasion,  'case  Cupe  did  n't  'spect  sech  comp'ny." 

The  days  passed  swiftly.  The  entire  community 
112 


Cupe  in  Jail 


became  deeply  interested  in  the  pending  trial.  The 
large  sum  of  money  that  had  disappeared  from  the  iron 
chest  in  Cupe's  room  the  night  of  the  hurricane  would 
have  been  a  godsend  to  the  attorneys,  and  the  county  as 
well,  could  it  have  been  found,  for  it  seemed  that  the 
"Corn  Bug"  had  left  no  legal  heir.  So  Cupe's  anxious 
counsel  strove  to  obtain  a  confession,  apparently  for  the 
purpose  of  saving  the  negro  from  the  penitentiary. 
u  Ef  de  gol'  am  gone,  et  am  gone,  an'  Prov'dence  doan 
want  no  nigger  t'  put  in  his  mouf,"  persisted  Cupe. 
The  key  to  the  chest  had  been  found  on  Cupe's  person, 
indeed  he  did  not  deny  the  fact  that  the  gold  had  been 
in  his  charge  to  the  date  of  its  disappearance,  but  still  he 
disclaimed  secreting  the  money.  At  last  the  conviction 
became  general  that,  realising  that  his  master  could  not  live 
until  morning,  Cupe  had  hidden  the  gold  before  he  had 
started  for  the  physician  on  that  fearful  New  Year  night. 

Immediately  after  the  visit  of  Judge  Elford  his  home 
was  sought  by  the  lank  village  clerk,  who  stood  nearly 
alone  in  that  he  believed  in  Cupe's  innocence,  and  so 
expressed  himself  to  the  judge.  Elford  made  no  de 
claration  concerning  his  own  opinion,  but  said  that  his 
every  argument  had  been  used  in  an  endeavour  to  induce 
the  old  negro  to  disclose  the  location  of  the  treasure. 
The  judge  volunteered  the  information,  however,  that 
Cupe  most  determinedly  resisted  every  appeal  to  assist 
in  clearing  himself  from  suspicion  of  having  committed 
the  crime.  He  shook  his  head  when  the  clerk  asked 
concerning  what  might  be  the  result  to  Cupe  in  case  he 
remained  steadfast. 

"  The  evidence  is  circumstantial,  but  sufficient  to  con 
vict  him." 

"  And  is  there  no  chance  ?  "  asked  the  self-constituted 
champion. 

8  113 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"None,"  the  judge  replied;  "  at  least,"  he  added, 
"none  that  his  attorney  will  think  about." 

The  clerk  looked  up  inquisitively. 

"  No,"  Elford  repeated,  "  none  that  will  likely  be 
thought  about."  He  went  to  his  book-case,  took  from 
it  a  well-worn  volume,  opened  it  and  laid  it  on  his  desk. 
Then,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  voice  calling  him,  put  his 
hand  to  his  ear  and  listened.  "  I  shall  return  in  a  few 
moments,"  he  remarked,  and  passed  from  the  room. 

There  was  no  intimation  in  the  tone  of  the  judge 
that  a  connection  could  be  drawn  between  the  legal 
document  he  had  opened  and  the  case  of  Cupe. 
Apparently  the  book  had  been  taken  from  the  shelf  with 
an  object  that  had  no  bearing  on  the  presence  of  the 
clerk.  And  yet  Mr.  Wagner  felt  that  in  this  book  was 
the  clue  that  Cupe's  attorney  would  overlook  and  that 
the  judge  could  not  honourably  mention.  He  moved 
to  the  open  volume,  and  glanced  at  the  heading  of  the 
page.  It  was  a  report  of  a  case  in  the  Barren  County 
Circuit  Court,  but  the  heading  was  sufficient  for  the 
sharp-eyed  and  quick-witted  clerk,  who  needed  but  one 
glance,  and  then,  before  the  judge  re-entered,  stepped 
back  to  his  place. 

No  allusion  was  made  by  either  man  to  the  open  book. 

"  Should  you  like  to  visit  Cupe  ?  "  said  the  judge  ; 
"you  know  him  well;  perhaps  you  can  draw  from  him 
the  secret,  and  serve  the  commonwealth  where  others 
have  failed." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  clerk  ;  u  I  shall  go  in  the  morning." 

Judge  Elford  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  wrote  an  order. 

*  Mr.  Joseph  Kindiim ,  Keeper  of  Stringtown  County  Jail. 

t(  DEAR  SIR  :  You  will  admit  the  bearer,  Mr.  Wagner,  to 
the  cell  of  Cupid  Hardman  as  often  as  he  calls,  and  permit  him 
to  remain  with  the  prisoner  each  visit  as  long  as  he  wishes. 

(Signed)  II4  "  J.  B.  ELFORD." 


Cupe  in  Jail 


The  clerk  bowed  himself  out,  the  judge  closed  and 
replaced  the  book,  and  then  sat  in  meditation.  "  It  is 
the  only  chance  for  misguided  old  Cupe,  who  means  no 
harm,"  he  murmured ;  "  God  forgive  me  if  1  have  done  a 
wrong." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

UTOO    SLOW    FOJ   A    COON    AN'  TOO    FAST    FO     A    POSSUM  " 

A  CURIOUS  spectacle  was  that  of  Mr.  Wagner, 
who,  after  his  interview  with  the  judge,  made 
repeated  journeys  to  the  prisoner  in  the  Stringtown 
county  jail.  Astride  of  a  mule,  his  long  legs  nearly 
dragging  the  earth,  the  man  of  music  as  well  as  letters 
patiently  rode  back  and  forth.  The  order  of  the  judge 
gave  him  immediate  access  to  the  cell  of  Cupe,  and  his 
visits  were  invariably  of  extraordinary  length.  Not  a 
little  curiosity  was  excited  in  the  mind  of  the  jailer,  who, 
however,  recognising  that  the  order  of  the  judge  relieved 
him  from  all  responsibility,  gave  himself  no  personal 
concern.  The  tongues  of  the  village  gossips  naturally 
were  not  less  active  than  were  their  minds ;  and  every 
morsel  of  evidence,  imaginary  or  otherwise,  concerning 
Cupe  and  his  secret  was  chewed  threadbare.  The  case 
became  renowned.  A  score  of  "  killings  "  could  not 
have  excited  the  interest  which  this  mystery  raised. 
Cupe  was  the  subject  of  general  comment  and  specula 
tion,  and  could  he  have  known  the  remarks  that  were 
made  about  him  he  would  —  providing  he  was  as  vain 
and  fond  of  notoriety  as  at  that  time  were  most  of  his 
race  —  have  been  a  happy  "  nigger."  Of  these  remarks, 
however,  he  rested  in  ignorance,  occupying  his  time  as 
best  he  could  between  the  interviews  to  which  he  was 
subjected  by  his  attorney  and  the  visits  of  his  friend,  the 
Stringtown  clerk. 

While  it  is  true  that  his  counsel  had  been  appointed 
lio 


"Too  slow  fo'  a  Coon,  &c." 

to  defend  him,  it  was  no  less  true  that  this  same  attor 
ney  was  deeply  interested  in  uncovering  the  hidden  gold. 
The  lawyer's  personal  fees  would  unquestionably  be 
greater  if  he  could  be  the  means  of  discovering  the 
money,  and  his  professional  reputation  would  also  be 
increased.  So,  at  last,  after  all  attempts  to  induce  the 
accused  to  unbosom  himself  had  failed,  he  decided  that 
he  would  search  the  garments  of  the  negro  for  evidence 
of  some  description,  for,  possibly,  Cupe  had  something 
secreted  about  his  person  that  might  shed  light  upon  the 
subject.  The  jailer,  on  being  questioned,  said  that  the 
only  search,  so  far,  had  been  of  the  pockets  of  the  old 
slave,  and  that  nothing  was  found  therein  save  a  knife 
and  some  unimportant  trinkets.  "  I  shall  bring  a  change 
of  garments  for  the  old  fool,"  said  the  lawyer,  u  and 
have  the  patches  of  the  ragged  ones  ripped  apart." 

That  afternoon  Cupe  heard  a  gentle  rap  on  his  door ; 
a  key  was  awkwardly  thrust  into  the  lock  and  hesitat 
ingly  turned.  The  door  swung  back,  and  in  the  door 
way  stood  the  youngest  child  of  the  jailer,  a  little  boy  of 
eight.  "  Uncle  Cupe,"  said  the  child,  "  the  front  door 
downstairs  is  unlocked,  and  you  can  go  home."  The 
old  darkey  patted  the  urchin's  head. 

"  De  sunlight  am  monstrous  sweet,  honey,  but  de 
shade  arn  s'lubrous,  chile.  Who  tole  yo'  t'  open  de 
doah  fo'  Cupe  ?  " 

"  I  jest  heard  pap  and  the  lawyer  talk  and  say  that 
this  would  be  the  last  day  you  would  be  here,  and  I 
thought  I  would  let  you  out." 

"  Yo'  did,  chile,  yo'  did  !  an'  so  it  am  t'  be  de  las' 
day !  Go  back,  honey,  an'  doan  yo'  nebbah  open  no 
uddah  jail  doahs ;  keep  yoah  han'  off  de  key." 

"  You  are  goin'  to  have  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  Uncle 
Cupe." 

117 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Who  tele  yo'  so,  chile  ?  Cupe  doan  wan'  no  new 
clo's." 

"  Mr.  Putter  will  bring  them  to-day,  and  take  away 
your  old  patches." 

"  Take  de  key  out  ob  dat  doah,  chile,  an'  hang  et 
back  on  de  hook  yo'  took  it  from  an7  doan  yo'  say 
nuffin  t'  nobody  'bout  tryin'  t'  let  Cupe  out  ob  de  jail, 
'case  yoah  pap  won't  like  t'  hab  yo'  tole  it.  Shet  de 
doah,  honey,  Cupe  am  bery  comfor'ble  heah,  fo'  de 
shade  am  good  fo'  de  'plexion."  The  negro  again 
patted  the  head  of  the  innocent  little  one  and  gently 
closed  the  door.  The  key  was  turned,  withdrawn,  and 
silence  reigned  again  in  the  cell  of  Cupe,  who  stood  for 
a  time  meditatively. 

"  An'  so  dey  gwine  t'  take  'way  de  ole  clo's,  an'  fo' 
what  ?  Dah  ain't  no  use  in  runnin*  no  risk,  Cupe  > 
bettah  yo'  fix  de  mattah  now." 

Stepping  to  the  grated  window,  he  cast  a  glance  across 
the  street.  "  Yo'  am  in  yoah  place,  Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  ; 
am  yo'  ready  fo'  yoah  duty  ?  "  The  dog  raised  his 
head,  stood  upright  and  cast  a  joyful  glance  at  his  mas 
ter.  u  Stan'  still  till  I  tole  yo'  t'  come,  Dgawge  —  stan' 
still." 

Grasping  the  knee  of  one  leg  of  his  trousers  with  his 
hand,  old  Cupe  gave  a  bright  yellow  patch  a  jerk  that 
tore  it  from  the  brown  garment  beneath,  which,  strangely 
enough,  proved  to  be  perfectly  sound.  Then  he  opened 
a  slit  in  one  edge  of  the  patch  and  removed  from  it  a 
tiny  iron  key.  "  Yo'  is  safe  now,  but  yo'  will  be  safah 
wid  Dinah,"  said  he;  then  he  replaced  the  key  in  the 
fragment  of  cloth  and  rolling  it  compactly,  tied  the 
package  firmly  with  a  string  that  was  drawn  from 
beneath  another  patch.  Stepping  to  the  barred  window 
again,  Cupe  spoke  to  the  dog,  who,  expectant,  stood 

118 


1 

ttq    5 

£,* 


"Too  slow  fo'  a  Coon,  &c." 

in  the  position  he  had  assumed  upon  first  hearing  the 
voice  of  his  master. 

"  Come  heah,  Dgawge,"  said  Cupe ;  "  yo'  hab  work 
t'  do  now  ;  come  heah,  yo'  houn'."  The  dog  advanced 
slowly,  until  he  stood  with  upturned  face  beneath  the 
little  window.  "  Yo'  see  dis  heah  jew'l  ?  "  said  Cupe, 
holding  the  roll  beneath  the  bars  ;  the  dog  gave  a  low 
whine.  u  Yo'  am  t'  carry  it  home,  Dgawge.  Go  home 
wld  it  !  "  commanded  Cupe  emphatically.  He  flipped 
the  parcel  into  the  air,  and  it  fell  into  the  open  mouth 
of  the  faithful  friend.  u  Go  home  /'  Dinah ! "  com 
manded  his  master  again ;  and  instantly  the  brute  turned 
about,  gave  a  leap  that  carried  him  to  the  opposite 
fence,  the  next  carried  him  over  the  fence,  and  then  he 
vanished  in  the  weeds  in  the  direction  of  Stringtown. 

As  the  dog  disappeared  the  negro  turned  his  gaze 
diagonally  through  the  grating,  and  caught  sight  of  the 
attorney,  who  had  just  rounded  the  corner  of  the  blind 
street.  He  was  advancing  toward  the  jail,  and  beneath 
his  arm  carried  a  u  store  "  wrapped  package. 

"  Yo'  kin  come  in  ef  yo'  wants  t',  Mr.  Lawyah," 
chuckled  the  negro  ;  "  de  front  doah  am  unlocked,  an* 
yo'  need  n't  knock.  Yo'  am  welcome  t'  give  Cupe  a 
new  suit  ob  clo's  now.  Ya,  ya,"  he  chuckled,  "  yo'  am 
a  smaht  man,  Mr.  Lawyah,  but  some  smaht  men  am 
like  some  dawgs,  an'  caint  cotch  nuffin.  Dey  am  too 
slow  fo'  a  coon  an'  too  fas'  fo'  a  'possum." 


5*9 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE    TRIAL    OF    CUPE 

AND  so  old  Cupe  faced  the  day  of  his  trial.  Ob 
stinately  he  held  to  his  illogical  course  to  the  last 
moment.  Perverse  in  his  determination  to  make  no 
defence,  faithful  to  his  inherited  and  loved  superstitions, 
careless  of  the  effect  his  fanaticism  might  have  on 
himself,  heedless  of  the  pleadings  and  scoldings  alike  of 
friend  and  attorney,  with  dogged  indifference  he  main 
tained  the  position  he  had  taken  from  the  moment  of 
his  arrest.  The  search  of  his  old  garments  shed  no 
light  on  the  cause  of  .his  taciturnity,  and  when  the  case 
was  called  in  court  the  defence  could  offer  no  rebutting 
argument  to  refute  the  strong  but  circumstantial  charge 
of  the  prosecutor. 

When  Cupe  was  ushered  into  the  court  room,  Judge 
Elford,  cold  and  solemn,  occupied  the  chair  of  justice ; 
the  twelve  jurymen,  the  majority  of  them  white-haired 
farmers,  each  with  a  box  of  sawdust  at  his  feet,  sat  owl- 
like  in  the  jury-box;  the  contending  attorneys  in  front 
of  the  judge  frowned  from  opposite  sides  of  a  small 
table  that  held  two  piles  of  books ;  before  the  table 
rested  an  oblong  iron  chest,  riveted  with  hammered  nails 
Oiat  bound  to  its  side  several  heavy  crossed  iron  hoops. 
The  hinges  of  this  box  were  of  hand-workmanship,  and 
the  massive  clasp  in  front  was  of  hammered  iron. 

But  few  witnesses  were  called  in  behalf  of  the  com 
monwealth,  and  none  for  the  defence.  The  witnesses 

120 


The  Trial  of  Cupe 

sat  on  the  front  bench,  and,  contrary  to  Cupe's  former 
assertion  concerning  "  nigger  "  testimony,  Aunt  Dinah, 
with  the  little  girl  clasped  in  her  arms,  sat  among  them. 
Cupe  was  conducted  to  his  place  in  the  prisoner's  box, 
and  seemed  the  least  concerned  of  those  directly  inter 
ested  in  the  case.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  him  and 
followed  his  every  motion,  as,  indifferent  to  the  gaze  of 
the  packed  assembly,  he  threw  himself  carelessly  into 
his  chair,  crossed  his  legs,  leaned  over  and  utilized  the 
sawdust  box  at  his  feet,  then  throwing  back  his  head 
closed  his  eyes  and  slowly  chewed  the  remnant  of  a 
leaf  of  tobacco.  Although  a  prisoner,  the  old  darkey 
was  a  picture  of  contentment,  seemingly  as  much  at  ease 
as  a  man  in  perfect  freedom  of  mind  and  void  of  care 
might  be,  his  mouth  keeping  time  to  his  foot,  that  wab 
bled  gently  up  and  down.  The  case  was  called,  the 
witnesses  were  sworn  one  by  one,  and  as  each  gave  tes 
timony  it  was  evident  that  until  I  arose  none  of  them 
had  seen  the  money.  Then  the  first  direct  and  conclu 
sive  evidence  was  offered  concerning  this  treasure,  and 
for  the  first  time  old  Cupe  exhibited  an  interest  in  the 
proceedings.  I  knew  that  my  testimony  was  likely  to 
be  harmful  to  my  old  friend,  and  when  the  sharp  prose 
cutor,  having  led  me  to  the  discovery  of  the  old  land 
deed,  next  asked  if  Cupe  had  exhibited  any  of  the  coin, 
I  hesitated.  Then  it  was  that  the  foot  of  the  darkey 
ceased  to  vibrate,  the  closed  eyes  opened,  and  before  the 
judge  or  counsel  could  anticipate  the  words  he  kindly 
said  :  "  Tole  de  truff,  chile." 

A   sharp    rap   from    the  gavel  of  the  judge  was  not 
enough  to  silence  the  old  negro,  who  repeated : 
"  Tole  de  truff  an'  shun  de  debbil,  chile." 
And  so  the  story  of  how  I   had  seen  the  layer  of  coin 
in  the  trunk  was  told,  the  words  that  could  only  help  to 

121 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

sentence  the  old  man  to  the  penitentiary.  One  by  one 
the  threads  of  the  web  had  been  drawn  by  the  prose 
cutor  ;  the  existence  of  the  money  was  proven,  and  the 
facts  that  it  had  been  in  Cupe's  charge,  and  that  the 
box  was  locked  when  the  key,  which  had  then  been  used 
to  unlock  it,  was  taken  from  him  the  morning  of  the 
storm,  were  also  laid  before  the  jury.  The  astute  mind 
of  Cupe  caught  each  thread  of  the  testimony  ;  he  could 
not  fail  to  see,  when  the  witness  bench  was  cleared  of 
all  except  Dinah  and  the  child  by  her  side,  that  his  case 
was  hopeless.  Yet  he  gave  no  evidence  of  despair,  but 
with  half-closed  eyes  sat  as  if  his  part  were  that  of  an 
unconcerned  listener. 

At  last  the  prosecutor  called  the  name  of  Dinah 
Hardman,  who  arose  and  advanced  to  the  stand.  Won 
der  expressed  itself  on  the  face  of  Cupe,  who  mumbled  : 
"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  an*  yo'  doan  'tend  t'  let  dat  nigger 
swoah  ! "  This  was  the  view  taken  by  the  defence 
also,  for  a  lengthy  argument  followed,  in  which  the  two 
piles  of  reference  books  were  nearly  demolished  by  op 
posing  counsel.  At  last  the  judge  gave  his  decision,  to 
the  effect  that  while  the  case  was  one  in  which  the  com 
monwealth  was  deeply  concerned,  still  no  white  person 
was  likely  to  be  injured  or  defamed  by  the  unusual  pro 
ceeding.  It  was  really  a  case  in  which  negroes  would 
testify  on  each  side,  and  the  Court  which  proposed  to 
allow  Cupe  to  tell  his  story  would  not  exclude  the  tes 
timony  of  Dinah. 

Alas,  poor  Cupe  !  Dinah,  his  faithful  wife,  corrob 
orated  the  evidence  I  had  given  concerning  the  incident 
in  the  cabin  to  the  very  point  where  I  had  hesitated,  and 
then  she  too  wavered.  It  is  hard  to  force  a  wife  to 
speak  the  word  that  consigns  her  husband  to  the  peni 
tentiary,  and  even  the  judge  seemed  to  feel  the  injustice 

122 


The  Trial  of  Cupe 

of  the  law.  He  was  saved  the  painful  duty  of  issuing 
the  command,  however,  for  once  again  the  prisoner  .in 
terrupted  the  proceedings  : 

"  Tole  de  truff,  Dinah." 

This  time  the  gavel  of  the  judge  was  laid  gently  on 
the  desk,  and  he  said  kindly  :  "  Speak,  Dinah." 

And  when  Dinah  had  spoken,  all  doubt  concerning 
the  matter  was  at  an  end  ;  the  gold  I  had  testified  to 
have  seen  in  the  chest  was  shown  to  have  been  in  it  to 
the  night  of  Cupe's  departure;  the  key  had  been  in 
Cupe's  possession  from  the  time  the  chest  was  placed 
in  his  charge  to  the  time  it  was  handed  by  him  to  the 
constable. 

The  witness  bench  was  now  clear,  die  case  of  the 
commonwealth  had  been  made  out,  the  prosecution 
rested,  and  old  Cupe's  doom  was  about  to  be  sealed. 
Nothing  the  defence  might  offer  could  save  him  from 
the  penitentiary.  He  remained  with  head  thrown  back, 
his  mouth  and  feet  moving  in  unison,  his  guileless  face 
as  free  from  care  as  when  he  rested  on  the  corn-shuck 
chair  before  his  cabin  door  after  a  hard  day's  work  in 
the  coolness  of  a  summer  evening. 

The  closing  words  of  the  commonwealth's  attorney 
—  "  We  now  rest  our  case  "  —  came  at  last.  The 
audience  drew  a  long  breath,  the  jurymen  as  by  a  single 
thought  changed  their  positions,  and  it  could  have  been 
observed  that  a  huge  plug  of  tobacco  and  the  bright 
jack-knife  of  the  foreman  passed  successively  from  man 
to  man  through  the  jury  box  and  that  without  exception 
a  liberal  slice  was  cut  from  it  by  each  juryman,  all  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  exchange  an  old  quid  for  a  new 
one.  Several  persons  in  the  audience  left  the  room  at 
this  point,  but  remained  away  no  longer  than  it  might 
have  taken  them  to  go  to  the  nearest  tavern  and  return  ; 

123 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

and  in  a  few  moments  the  lawyer  for  the  defence  arose 
and  made  his  opening  speech,  markedly  brief,  in  which 
he  laid  great  stress  on  the  past  record  of  the  defendant 
rather  than  on  the  strength  of  his  case. 

He  admitted  to  the  judge  that  his  only  witnesses  would 
be  those  who  would  testify  to  the  honesty  of  the  prisoner 
and  to  his  good  character,  and,  waving  his  hand  over 
the  audience,  he  added  :  "  I  make  no  distinction  in  the 
personality  of  the  witnesses,  any  of  the  gentlemen  from 
Stringtown  will  serve  the  defence." 

His  plea  for  sympathy  was  adroitly  expressed,  but  the 
judge  ruled  out  all  such  evidence,  stating  that  the  charge 
against  Cupe  was  specific  and  that  direct  rebuttal  of  the 
commonwealth's  evidence  would  be  necessary.  This 
ruling,  certainly  anticipated  by  the  counsel,  left  him 
without  any  defence  whatever  other  than  the  statement 
of  the  erratic  prisoner,  who  might  be  expected  to  convict 
himself  rather  than  prove  his  innocence. 

Cupe  sat  with  closed  eyes,  uplifted  face,  wabbling 
foot  and  working  mouth ;  but  he  was  not  asleep,  for 
when  his  name  was  called  by  the  clerk  he  rose,  held  up 
his  hand  and  was  sworn.  Then  occurred  an  innova 
tion  in  the  history  of  that  court,  for  the  judge  arose 
and  delivered  a  terse,  unusual  address  to  the  opposing 
attorneys. 

"The  Court  proposes  that  this  witness  shall  be  given 
the  privilege  of  telling  his  story  in  his  own  way  and 
without  any  interruption  whatever  from  either  opposing 
or  friendly  counsel.  The  defendant  is  not  versed  in 
technical  terms,  and  might  readily  be  led  or  driven  to 
do  himself  a  wrong  if  an  attempt  were  made  either  to 
guide  or  disturb  his  speech.  In  the  case  under  consider 
ation —  a  very  important  one  to  the  commonwealth  — 
the  object  is  to  discover  the  gold  as  well  as  to  convict 

124 


The  Trial  of  Cupe 

the  thief.  The  evidence  introduced  by  the  common 
wealth  has  clearly  established  the  existence  of  a  large 
treasure,  but  no  ray  of  light  has  been  thrown  on  its  pre 
sent  location,  and  Cupe  is  evidently  the  only  person  in 
a  position  to  serve  the  State  by  revealing  the  truth.  He 
can  lighten  his  sentence  by  doing  so."  In  conclusion, 
the  judge  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  Cupe  stood 
alone,  with  all  the  world  against  him,  and  that  under  the 
circumstances  he  must  be  given  full  liberty  to  speak  at 
length  ;  and,  u  if  any  questions  are  to  be  asked  of  him/' 
the  judge  added,  "  I  shall  propound  them  to  the  satisfac 
tion  of  both  plaintiff  and  defence.  Are  you  willing, 
gentlemen  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  two  lawyers ;  and  both 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  as  well  they  both  might,  for 
neither  the  case  of  the  commonwealth  nor  his  own  case 
could  be  injured  by  the  negro. 

u  Cupid,"  said  the  judge,  "  you  may  speak  now ;  tell 
these  gentlemen  all  you  know  about  this  subject,  and  re 
member,  Cupid,  you  have  sworn  before  God  Almighty  to 
tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

Looking  the  judge  in  the  face,  Cupe  removed  the 
shredded  fragment  of  tobacco  from  the  rubber-like  lips 
that  covered  his  toothless  gums. 

u  Yo'  is  bery  condescending  Jedge,"  he  said,  "  t*  gib 
an  ole  nigger  de  'spicuity  ob  dis  yocasion.  Howsum- 
ebbah,  it  won't  take  long  t'  spoke  all  he  hab  t'  say  con- 
sarnin'  de  case  yo'  am  'nquirin'  'bout.  Dese  heah 
gem'n  an'  ladies  what  hab  spoken  befo'  hab  lef '  mighty 
little  fo'  Cupe  t'  talk  'bout,  'less  it  be  de  ole  chist,  which, 
'cep'n'  Dinah,  Cupe  am  de  only  pusson  who  undahstan's. 
Dey  hab  tole  monstrous  straight  stories,  dese  gem'n  an* 
kdies,  an'  Cupe  kin  sahtify  t'  de  correc'ness  ob  dere 
statements  an'  et  'fords  him  pleasure  t'  say  dat  de  trufF 
am  in  dem  all." 

125 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

u  The  old  fool  !  "  the  prisoner's  counsel  muttered. 
But  at  a  look  from  the  judge  he  refrained  from  making 
an  open  interruption. 

"  Begin  with  the  last  time  you  saw  the  gold  and  tell 
us  all  you  know  about  its  loss.  Never  mind  what 
others  have  said." 

u  Wall,  Ma'se,  de  las'  time  I  saw  de  gol'  wah  as 
follahs  :  Ma'se  Hardman  wah  growin'  pow'ful  weak  de 
las'  day  ob  de  yeah,  an'  Cupe  knowed  dat  de  nex' 
mahn'n'  'ud  see  him  a  dead  man.  De  signs  had  written 
dat  fac'  free  times  obah.  An'  den  Cupe  say  t'  Ma'se, 
4  Doan  Cupe  ask  yo'  t'  make  yoah  peace  wid  de  pahson  ? ' 
and  Ma'se  say  in  his  same  ole  way, c  Damn  de  pahson  !  ' 
An'  den  he  cough  ag'in  bery  weak-like  an'  look  so 
cavahnous  dat  Cupe  spoke  ag'in  an'  say,  c  What  yo' 
gwine  t'  do  'bout  de  Susie  chile  when  yo'  lebe  de  planta 
tion  fo'  de  uddah  side  ob  Jordan  ? '  An'  den  Ma'se  look 
kinder  serous-like  an'  say,  c  Brung  me  some  ob  dat  gol' 
an*  let  me  see  et  ag'in  ! '  An'  den  Cupe  an'  ole  Dinah 
go  t'  de  lof  an*  unlock  de  i'on  box,  an'  Cupe  take 
a  han'ful  ob  de  shiny  crittahs,  an'  brung  'em  down, 
an'  Ma'se  pick  'em  up  out  ob  Cupe's  han'  one  by  one  in 
his  fingahs,  an'  drop  each  piece  ag'in  case  he  too  weak 
t'  hole  de  stuff.  An'  den  he  say,  '  Put  de  gol'  back, 
Cupe,  it  am  no  use  t'  me  now,  an'  lock  de  box  an'  go 
fo'  de  pahson/  " 

At  this  point  the  attorney  for  the  defence  arose  and 
began  to  stride  back  and  forth  across  the  floor,  and  as 
he  passed  my  side  I  heard  him  mumble,  "  The  old  fool !  " 

"  An'  den  Cupe  take  de  gol'  back  an'  spread  it  ag'in 
in  little  piles  all  obah  de  bott'm  ob  dat  chist  an'  pack  de 
cotton  waddin'  close  'bout  et." 

Interrupting  himself,  the  negro  advanced  to  the  iron 
box,  turned  the  great  key,  raised  the  lid  and  peered  into 

126 


The  Trial  of  Cupe 

its  depths.  He  gently  turned  the  box  on  edge  so  that 
the  judge  and  jurymen  could  see  its  bottom,  and  then, 
moving  his  hand  back  and  forth  over  the  surface  of 
the  inner  part  of  the  chest,  he  repeated  : 

"  An*  Cupe  spread  de  gol'  money  all  obah  de  bery 
bott'm  ob  dis  cMst.  It  wah  five  pieces  deep  an'  eb'ry 
spot  ob  de  bott'in  wah  cubbahed  wid  de  shinin'  crittahs. 
An'  den  de  lid  wah  put  down  keerfully,  an'  de  cubbah 
wah  pressed  t'  its  place,  an'  de  key  ob  de  cubbah  wah 
turned,  an'  den  dat  key  wah  tooken'  out  an'  put  into 
Cupe's  pocket." 

Cupe  again  interrupted  himself  at  this  point  to  mor 
alise  on  the  chest,  but  it  could  be  seen  that  the  Court 
was  getting  a  straight  story,  one  that  would  send  Cupe 
to  the  penitentiary  on  his  own  words. 

u  An'  yoah  bott'm  wah  cubbahed  wid  gol',  yo'  honey 
ob  a  chist ;  an'  wha'  am  yoah  gol'  now  ?  Befo'  dc 
Lawd,  yo'  am  a  fren'  what  sticks  t'  de  ribs."  The  old 
negro  peered  intently  into  its  depths,  he  moved  his  bony 
fingers  lovingly  over  the  bottom  and  fingered  each  of  the 
protruding  rivets  —  he  seemed  to  derive  pleasure  in  the 
touch  —  giggled  to  himself  and  arose,  smiling.  u  Yo'  am 
a  true  fren',  yo'  ole  chist ;  why  doan  de  jedge  ax  yo*  what 
yo'  did  wid  de  gol'  ?  "  Abruptly  turning  to  the  judge, 
he  said  :  u  Ax  de  chist,  Jedge." 

"  Never  mind  the  story  the  chest  might  tell,"  said  the 
judge  ;  "  what  did  you  do  next  ?  " 

"  I  put  on  de  obahcoat  an'  pulled  de  comfort  obah  my 
ears  an'  drew  on  de  coon-skin  mittens  an'  stahted  into 
de  storm  fo'  de  pahson  in  Stringtown." 

u  You  did  not  hide  the  money  ?  " 

"  No,  sah." 

"You  started  for  Stringtown  with  the  key  of  the  chest 
in  your  pocket  ?  " 

127 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Wid  dis  heah  key  s'cuah'ly  in  de  pocket  ob  dc 
pants,"  and  Cupe  held  the  key  aloft. 

"  Is  that  the  chest,  Cupe  ?  " 

"  It  am  de  chist  ;  dah  ain't  no  uddah  chist  like  it  dis 
side  ob  Mexiky,  wha'  Ma'se  Hardman  got  et  in  de  wah. 
Yo'  know,  Jedge,  he  fought  wid  Gen'ral  Butlah  ob 
Cah'lton." 

"  Is  there  no  other  key,  Cupe  ?  " 

The  old  darkey  rose  up  and  faced  the  judge.  u  What 
yo'  ax,  Ma'se  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  other  key  ?  "  repeated  the  judge,  leaning 
over  and  gazing  intently  at  the  negro. 

For  once  it  seemed  as  though  Cupe's  native  wit  had 
deserted  him.  He  stooped  down,  thrust  the  key  to  its 
place,  removed  the  great  iron  from  its  socket,  held  it  up 
to  the  judge  and  said  : 

u  Dah  am  moah  dan  a  t'ousan'  keys  in  de  worP, 
Ma'se ;  yo'  knows  dah  am  uddah  keys ;  what  fo'  yo'  ax 
Cupe  sech  a  quistion  es  dat  ?  " 

"  I  mean  is  there  another  key  like  the  one  you  hold 
in  your  hand  ?  " 

"Yo'  ax  es  t'  wheddah  dah  be  'nuddah  key  cap'ble  ob 
unlockin'  de  lid  ob  dis  chist,  'nuddah  key  like  dis  key  ? " 

"  Yes." 

u  Den  Cupe  kin  ansah  de  quistion,  case  he  knows  de 
ansah.  Dah  ain't  no  uddah  key  like  dis  one,  dah  nebbah 
hab  been  but  one  key  t'  fit  dat  keyhole  sense  Ma'se 
brought  de  box  from  Mexiky.  Ef  Cupe  wah  on  his 
dyin'  bed  an'  de  fires  wah  buhn'n'  fo'  his  soul,  an'  de 
good  Lawd  should  say,  c  Cupe,  yo'  kin  save  yo'sef  de 
red-hot  pitchfork  ob  de  debbil  ef  yo'  say  dah  am  'nuddah 
key  t'  dis  cubbah,'  Cupe  could  n't  say  de  word  t'  save 
his  soul  lessen  he  would  lie.  Dah  am  no  uddah  key, 
Ma'se." 

128 


The  Trial  of  Cupe 

"And  so,  Cupe,  you  left  the  gold  in  the  chest  that 
evening  ?  No  person  could  have  opened  the  chest  with 
out  the  key,  and  it  was  in  your  possession  until  it  was 
delivered  to  the  officer  appointed  to  take  charge  of  the 
effects  of  your  master  ?  " 

"'Zac'ly." 

"  How  could  the  money  have  got  out  of  the  chest  ?  " 

The  judge  spoke  severely,  and,  eyeing  Cupe,  pointed 
into  the  empty  box. 

u  Who  say  et  git  out  ob  de  chist  ? "  retorted  Cupe, 
"not  dis  nigger." 

"  It  is  not  there." 

The  negro  dropped  on  his  knees  again  and  gazed  into 
its  rusty  interior.  u  Suah  dah  ain't  no  goP  t'  be  seen,  an' 
Cupe  am  glad  et  ain't  t'  be  seen.  De  sign  what  nebbah 
lie  say  de  gol'  wah  fo'  de  gearl,  but  ef  et  could  be  scraped 
t'geddah  by  de  const'ble  et  'ud  go  into  de  pocket  ob  de 
lawyah.  Yo'  am  right,  Ma'se  Elford,  de  chist  won't  tell 
no  tales  t'  de  lawyah,  an'  Cupe  hab  tole  de  truft  an* 
nuffin  but  de  truff  es  he  swore  t'  do.  Dah  ain't  nuffin 
moah  t'  say."  He  lowered  the  cover  of  the  chest  and 
turned  the  key. 

Vainly  did  the  judge  try  by  art  and  persuasion  to  in 
duce  the  old  man  to  add  to  or  detract  from  his  statement ; 
he  declined  to  alter  his  testimony  in  any  way,  but  seated 
himself  in  the  prisoner's  box,  thrust  a  shred  from  a  leaf 
of  tobacco  between  his  lips,  where,  like  a  straw  between 
two  rubber  shoes,  it  wabbled  from  side  to  side.  With 
closed  eyes  and  see-sawing  foot,  old  Cupe  sat  silent. 

Then  the  attorney  for  the  defence  arose,  and  in  a  de 
spondent  tone,  addressing  the  judge,  said  :  "  I  submit  the 
side  of  the  defence  to  your  Honour  without  argument 
and  throw  my  client  on  the  mercy  of  the  Court." 


129 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    RIGHT    OF    CLERGY 

NEVER  did  the  court  of  Stringtown  County  con 
vene  with  spectators  more  intensely  interested 
and  more  prompt  in  assembling.  When  the  clerk  made 
the  opening  cry  every  place  was  filled,  and  even  the  two 
side  aisles  were  partly  occupied  by  chairs  brought  from 
the  bar-room  of  the  nearest  tavern.  The  universal 
opinion  was  that  the  jury  must  find  Cupe  guilty ;  and 
the  only  question  which  perplexed  the  village  was  re 
garding  the  penalty  likely  to  be  inflicted.  The  charge 
of  the  judge  was  soon  delivered  ;  it  was  short,  and  so 
clearly  drawn  as  to  leave  the  jury  no  alternative  but  to 
bring  in  a  verdict  against  the  defendant.  As  the  twel/e 
men  filed  slowly  from  the  room  it  required  but  little  of 
the  spirit  of  prophecy  to  foresee  that  they  would  soon 
return.  After  a  brief  consultation  the  jury  came  back 
to  the  box,  and  the  announcement  was  made  by  the 
court  officer  that  they  were  ready  to  return  their  verdict. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  are  you  agreed  ?  "  asked 
the  judge. 

"  We  are,"  said  the  foreman,  and  handed  the  Court  a 
paper,  from  which  his  Honour  read  aloud  : 

"  We  do  unanimously  agree  that  in  wilfully  secreting 
a  large  sum  of  money  which  had  been  entrusted  to  his 
care  Cupid  Hardman  is  guilty  of  high  crime  against  the 
commonwealth  of  Kentucky." 

u  Stand  up,  prisoner,"  said  the  judge,  u  while  the  sen 
tence  of  the  law  is  pronounced." 

130 


The  Right  of  Clergy 

Cupid  arose  and  looked  the  judge  in  the  face.  Then 
occurred  a  strange  thing,  for  a  cry  from  one  in  the  aisle, 
who  was  standing  upright  at  the  back  of  the  room,  broke 
the  stillness. 

"  I  ask  for  justice  !  " 

Audacious  interruption  this,  in  a  Kentucky  court. 

The  judge  looked  steadily  at  the  intruder;  every  face 
was  turned  in  the  direction  whence  the  startling  cry  had 
come ;  every  face,  I  may  say,  but  one.  Cupe  neither 
moved  nor  changed  expression. 

In  the  rear  of  the  centre  aisle,  with  a  leather-bound 
book  held  high  in  his  hand,  Mr.  Wagner,  the  Stringtown 
clerk,  stood  expectant,  and  as  the  eyes  of  the  assembly 
turned  upon  him  he  repeated : 

"Justice!  justice!  I  ask  for  justice — justice  at  the 
hands  of  the  Court,  your  Honour  !  " 

"  Justice  is  the  right  of  him  who  appeals  to  a  court 
of  justice,"  answered  the  judge.  "  For  whom  do  you 
ask  justice  ?  " 

"  For  the  prisoner  before  you,  for  the  slave,  Cupid 
Hardman." 

"Justice  he  shall  have  in  accordance  with  the  testi 
mony.  Listen  to  the  charge." 

"  Hold  your  word,  your  Honour.  I  ask  for  justice 
in  the  name  of  equity,  not  according  to  the  testimony. 
Listen,  your  Honour,  listen  until  you  hear  the  statutory 
claim  of  him  who  demands  the  right." 

Bearing  aloft  the  book,  the  uncouth  man  advanced 
slowly  down  the  aisle  until  he  stood  before  the  bench. 
Then,  thrusting  the  volume  into  the  hand  of  the  slave, 
he  spoke  in  a  deliberateT  slow  tone,  looking  straight  into 
the  face  of  the  judge.  "  I  claim  for  this  slave,  Cupid 
Hardman,  the  Right  of  Clergy^  and  this  demand  I  make 
in  the  name  of  the  law  of  this  great  commonwealth  of 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Kentucky  and  on  behalf  of  justice,  for  I  believe  him  to 
have  done  no  crime." 

The  judge  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest  and  not  less 
deliberately  replied  : 

u  The  claim  is  a  legal  one  and  accords  with  the 
statutes  of  the  commonwealth.  Open  the  book,  Cupid 
Hardman,  and  if  you  can  read  aloud  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States,  the  brand  may  be  applied  to  your 
hand  and  you  may  go  forth  freed  from  the  charge  pend 
ing  against  you." 

The  aged  negro  opened  the  book  and  read  (or  re 
peated)  word  for  word  the  entire  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  and,  having  handed  the  book  back  to  his 
champion,  stood  awaiting  the  next  motion  of  the  Court. 

"  The  brand  !  the  brand  of  fire  !  bring  in  the  brand  !  " 
ordered  the  judge  in  a  faltering,  low  tone. 

Turning  toward  the  aisle,  the  lank  clerk  again  held 
up  his  hand,  which,  high  above  the  heads  of  the  people, 
could  be  plainly  seen  from  the  corridor  without.  In 
answer  to  that  signal,  following  the  footsteps  of  the 
Stringtown  clerk,  advanced  a  figure  familiar  to  nearly 
all  who  were  present  — the  figure  of  the  old  Jew,  Mose. 

The  habitual,  emotionless  smile  wreathed  his  glossy 
face,  a  smile  that  contrasted  strangely  with  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion,  a  smile  unquestionably  out  of  place  in 
the  present  assembly.  He  carried  a  tinner's  charcoal 
furnace  fired  to  redness,  into  the  living  coals  of  which 
was  thrust  a  searing  iron  such  as  is  used  to-day  for 
branding  beasts.  Placing  the  heated  furnace  on  the 
floor  before  the  negro,  the  Jew  drew  the  brand  from  the 
glowing  brazier  and  stood  awaiting  the  next  order  of 
the  judge. 

"Sheriff,  proceed  with  your  duty  !  Cupid,  hold  out 
your  hand  !  "  ordered  the  judge. 

132 


The  Right  of  Clergy 

The  sheriff  grasped  the  hot  iron,  Cupe  extended  his 
bare  palm,  the  heated  metal  came  in  contact  with  the 
living  tissue,  a  puff  of  blue  vapour  shot  from  the  contact 
surfaces,  a  sizzling  sound  followed,  and  a  shudder  swept 
over  the  spectators,  many  of  whom  covered  their  faces. 
A  quick  cry,  loud  and  shrill,  pierced  the  air  when  that 
vapour  curled  upward,  and  with  a  bound  the  Little  girl 
leaping  from  the  arms  of  Dinah,  sprang  between  the 
executioner  and  the  victim.  Striking  up  the  hand  which 
held  the  hot  iron,  she  threw  an  arm  around  the  waist  of 
Cupe  and  stood  defiantly  beside  him,  shaking  her  tiny 
fist  at  the  sheriff  of  Stringtown  County. 

But  Cupe,  with  extended  arm  still  held  before  th& 
sheriff,  made  no  attempt  to  avoid  the  ordeal.  He  had 
not  flinched,  no  cry  of  pain  broke  from  his  lips,  no 
struggle  to  escape  the  brand  of  fire. 

"  'Scuse  de  chile,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  said  gently,  as  with 
his  left  hand  he  tenderly  stroked  her  hair.  "  She  am  but 
a  leetle  gearl  an*  lub  de  ole  nigger.  Go  on  wid  de  act  !  " 

"  Enough  !  enough  !  "  ordered  the  judge  ;  "  you  are 
free  to  go  home,  Cupid  ;  you  are  freed  from  the  sentence 
of  the  Court,  by  the  Right  of  Clergy"  * 


1  "The  last  time  this  plea  was  allowed  in  Kentucky  was  in  the 
Barren  Circuit  Court,  where  a  negro  was  on  trial  for  rape  before 
Judge  Richard  Buckner,  and  as  the  prosecutrix  was  a  white  woman, 
he  was  sentenced  to  death,  owing  to  the  bitter  prejudices  of  a  white 
jury,  although  the  evidence  against  him  was  clearly  insufficient.  The 
learned  judge,  heartily  sympathizing  with  the  poor  wretch,  thought 
of  this  plea  as  a  means  of  escape  for  him,  and  instructed  his  attorneys 
to  make  it-.  The  negro  being  tendered  the  United  States  Constitu 
tion,  and  found  able  to  read  it,  he  was  accordingly  burned  in  the  hand 
and  discharged  from  custody.  The  plea  was  shortly  afterward  (in 
1847)  abolished  by  the  Legislature."  —  Sixth  Kentucky  Law  Reporter, 
p.  508.  This  statute  was  carried  into  Kentucky  law  from  England 
where,  as  is  known,  the  "  Right  of  Clergy"  was  allowed  but  once  to 
a  claimant  who  was  then  branded  in  the  palm  or  on  the  ball  of  the 
thumb  to  prevent  a  second  appeal.  Few  Americans  are  aware  that 

133 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Many  of  the  audience  came  to  the  bondman's  side 
when  court  adjourned  and  shook  the  uninjured  hand. 
Men  praised  the  negro's  fortitude,  for  Kentuckians  love 
a  brave  man,  be  he  black  or  white;  and  old  Dinah, 
mumbling  to  herself,  bound  the  heroic  man's  hand  in  a 
red  bandanna  handkerchief.  At  last  the  room  was  va 
cated  of  all  but  the  court  officers,  the  friends  of  Cupe 
and  the  late  prisoner. 

u  You  are  free  to  go  home,"  repeated  the  judge. 

"  Yo'  hab  de  t'anks  ob  an  ole,  ign'rant  nigger,  Ma'se 
Jedge,  fo'  yoah  many  kindnesses,  but  Cupe  'ud  like  t'  ax 
a  quistion." 

"  Certainly." 

41  Kin  de  chist  go  nome  wid  de  nigger?  " 

"Yes." 

Cupe  made  a  low  courtesy,  stooped  over,  and  with 
his  uninjured  arm  attempted  to  throw  the  heavy  box 
upon  his  shoulder.  The  sheriff  came  to  his  assistance, 
and  by  their  combined  efforts  the  burden  was  lifted  to 
its  brawnv  resting  place.  As  Cupid  left  the  court  room 
the  sheriff  remarked  :  "  Devilish  heavy  for  an  empty 
box." 

The  judge  made  no  reply. 

And  so  the  gold  I  had  been  promised  and  on  which 
I  had  built  great  air  castles  was  lost  to  me  forever. 
With  dragging  feet  I  moved  from  the  door  of  the  court 
house  to  the  wagon  of  Mose,  the  huckster,  and  there, 
with  arms  clasped  over  my  head,  with  face  hidden  from 
the  light,  leaning  against  the  hind  wheel  of  that  dilapi 
dated  vehicle,  I  sobbed  gently  and  nervously  kicked  the 
sod  on  which  my  tears  were  falling.  The  horse  of  the 

this  curious  old  law  ever  had  a  footing  in  our  land.  See  "  Neck 
Verse,"  usually  Psalm  U.  i,  which  if  the  prisoner  could  read  entitled 
him,  after  branding,  to  his  freedom,  thus  saving  his  neck. 

134 


The  Right  of  Clergy 

Hebrew,  untied  at  the  rear  of  the  wagon,  stood  munch 
ing  the  remnant  of  a  dinner  from  the  worn  trough  which 
hung  on  the  back  part  of  the  wagon  bed  ;  but  I  gave  no 
heed  to  the  beast,  even  when  its  hairy  lips  were  flipped 
carelessly  against  my  cheek.  A  flock  of  barn  pigeons 
whistled  about  my  head  and  alighted  near  my  feet,  pick 
ing  up  the  scattered  grains  of  corn  that  had  dropped 
upon  the  ground  from  the  mouth  of  the  horse,  but  for 
once  my  hand  forgot  its  cunning  and  no  stone  was 
raised.  Aunt  Dinah,  leading  the  little  girl,  passed 
me  and  climbed  into  the  wagon.  Mose  placed  the 
brazier  in  the  wagon,  having  previously  emptied  the 
fiery  contents  on  the  roadside,  then  harnessed  his  horse 
and  proceeded  to  hitch  the  faithful  beast  in  the  shafts. 
I  heard  next  the  footsteps  of  old  Cupe  approaching,  the 
iron  chest  upon  his  shoulder.  The  chest  was  deposited 
on  the  ground  near  me,  and  as  the  negro  straightened 
up,  the  'bus  to  Stringtown,  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity, 
rolled  by.  A  cheer  went  up  in  honour  of  Cupe,  who 
waved  his  bandaged  hand  in  return.  As  the  omnibus 
rattled  along  1  raised  my  eyes,  and  beheld  near  me  in 
the  tail  of  the  covered  wagon  a  round,  red  face,  sur 
mounted  by  a  mop  of  bright  red  hair  :  it  was  the  face 
of  a  boy  about  my  own  age.  A  derisive  smile  spread 
over  the  florid  countenance,  a  mouth  was  u  made,"  into 
which  more  sarcasm  and  irony  were  thrown  than  can  be 
put  into  any  other  countenance  on  earth  than  that  of  a 
malignant  boy,  and  a  hand,  red  as  a  duck's  foot,  placed 
its  thumb  on  the  red  nose  and  twisted  its  fingers.  It 
was  hatred  at  first  sight.  I,  who  stood  by  the  wagon 
wheel,  forgot  my  own  troubles,  straightened  up  and 
shook  my  fist  defiantly  back  at  the  boy  in  the  tail  of  the 
'bus,  and,  grasping  a  clod  (no  stone  was  near),  hurled 
it  at  the  retreating  form.  As  the  vehicle  vanished  in  a 

135 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

cloud  of  dust  Cupe  placed  his  hand  on  my  head  and 
muttered  : 

"  De  signs  am  fulfillin'  monstrous  fas'  an*  de  meanin' 
ob  de  sign  t'  yo'  am  —  look  out  fo'  dat  Red-Head 
Boy  !  " 


CHAPTER   XX 

JUDGE    ELFORD 

THE  following  day  another  interesting  trial  was 
conducted  in  the  Court  of  Stringtown  County. 
The  force  of  the  commonwealth  was  expended  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  disprove  the  legality  of  the  short  will  of  the 
"  Corn  Bug"  as  recorded  on  the  slate  of  the  child  and  wit 
nessed  by  the  dead  minister.  Again  the  judge  permitted 
the  evidence  of  the  negress  Dinah  to  be  taken,  and  in 
summing  up  the  case,  declared  that  both  in  intent  and 
deed  the  law  had  been  complied  with  in  the  drafting  of 
that  unusual  will  concerning  the  authenticity  of  which 
there  was  no  doubt,  for  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  Jones 
was  well  known  and  Dinah  testified  that  it  had  been 
drawn  by  the  direct  command  of  the  "  Corn  Bug."  The 
property  of  the  "  Corn  Bug  "  was  not  claimed  by  kindred 
and,  other  than  a  disinherited,  adopted  brother,  there 
were  no  possible  heirs  in  law,  for  death  had  ended  the 
line  of  descent.  In  sound  mind  and  health,  Mr.  Hard- 
man  had  openly  stated  in  Stringtown,  in  presence  of  the 
Court  and  others,  that  the  land  and  all  but  two  thousand 
dollars  of  the  gold  (that  had  no  legal  existence)  was  to 
go  to  the  girl.  She  was  his  heir,  and  the  Court  must 
certify  to  the  legality  of  the  will  and  appoint  an  adminis 
trator  for  the  child.  For  that  office  the  judge  named 
Mr.  Wagner,  the  clerk  of  Stringtown,  who  at  once 
qualified  and  received  his  appointment.  Thus  when 
time  for  adjournment  arrived  that  day,  the  tragedy  be- 

137 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

gun  in  the  tempest  of  the  dying  year,  1863,  had  closed 
so  far  as  it  concerned  the  present  term  of  the  String- 
towii  County  Court. 

When  Judge  Elford  returned  to  his  home,  exhausted 
by  the  cares  of  the  days  that  had  preceded,  his  form  was 
bent  more  than  usual  and  his  footsteps  lagged  as  he 
moved  from  the  door  of  the  'bus  to  his  own  threshold. 
But  he  made  no  complaint.  And  when  the  kerosene 
lamp  was  lighted  and  the  window  curtains  of  the  small 
front  room  were  drawn  after  supper,  the  faithful  student 
and  unselfish  judge  sat  once  more  before  his  desk,  which, 
with  its  bookcase  above,  constituted  the  greatest  treasure 
of  his  lonely  house. 

Gone  were  his  children,  out  into  the  world,  —  they  had 
left  him  long  ago ;  gone  was  the  wife  of  his  bosom  — 
many  years  she  had  rested  beneath  the  sward  enclosed  in 
Stringtown's  white-palinged  fence ;  gone  were  the  am 
bitions  of  boyhood  and  manhood ;  all  had  been  swept 
away  by  the  resistless  broom  that  had  brushed  the  years 
into  oblivion.  His  life  had  been  spent  unselfishly  in 
behalf  of  his  countrymen  and  his  beloved  Common 
wealth  ;  no  charity  had  appealed  to  him  in  vain,  no 
wanderer  had  gone  from  his  door  unfed,  penniless  each 
New  Year  found  him  and  penniless  each  old  year  left  this 
man  who  spent  the  material  returns  that  came  with  each 
season  in  behalf  of  his  fellow-men,  and  gave  his  intel 
lectual  self  to  the  cause  of  justice.  Alone  in  his  modest 
study  sat  the  weary,  venerable  Kentucky  judge,  typical 
of  hundreds  of  others  who  lived  thirty  years  ago  in  that 
border  State. 

And  as  he  sat  in  the  dim  lamplight  of  that  modest 
room  the  record  of  his  years  arose  before  him,  bearing 
again  to  his  gaze  the  mother  from  out  the  long,  long- 
ago,  the  boyish  feet,  the  spring  of  youth,  the  ambition 


Judge  Elford 


of  middle  age  and  lastly  the  closing  of  life's  hopes  and 
cares  in  the  edge  of  the  ending  that  was  yet  to  come. 
And  then,  as  the  chain  of  thought-links  closed,  he  rose, 
took  from  its  place  in  the  bookcase  above  him  the  leather- 
bound  volume  that  he  had  opened  in  the  presence  of  the 
village  clerk,  opened  it  again  to  the  same  page,  that 
which  gave  the  account  of  the  Case  in  the  Barren  County 
Court,  and  read  :  "  I  claim  the  Right  of  Clergy  for  this 
slave."  Then  Cupe's  face  came  up  and  the  past  was 
pictured.  Again  he  saw  the  open  tomb  into  which  the 
casket  had  been  lowered  ;  Cupe  kneeling  beside  once 
more  with  strap  in  hand ;  again  the  face  of  the  old  darkey 
was  raised  as  it  had  been  in  the  long  buried  past ;  the 
raindrops  fell,  patter,  patter;  the  sound  of  the  vanished 
raindrops,  deadened  to  all  but  him  who  sat  alone  that 
night,  came  again  to  life,  and  the  mood-struck  man 
heard  from  memory's  chamber  the  voice  of  the  old 
negro  who  by  his  command  had  been  so  recently  tor 
tured,  gently  repeat :  "  Bressed  am  de  dead  what  de  rain 
falls  on." 

Slowly  the  head  of  the  careworn  man  fell  upon  the 
hands  that  were  now  crossed  over  the  open  volume.  The 
aching  forehead  touched  the  printed  page,  and  as  recent 
events  crushed  into  his  mind  the  lips  again  murmured 
the  sentence  spoken  over  that  book,  in  that  same  room 
the  night  of  Mr.  Wagner's  visit :  "  God  forgive  me  if  I 
have  done  a  wrong." 


139 


CHAPTER   XXI 

WHY    THE    HONEY    BEE    DON'T    SUCK    RED    CLOVER 

ACORN-SHUCK  chair,  tipped  back  in  the  sun 
shine,  stood  beside  a  cabin  door.  Cupe,  with 
crossed  legs,  one  foot  resting  on  a  round  of  the  chair, 
sat  balanced  thereon.  The  hanging  foot  was  beating 
time  to  an  aged  violin,  keyed  to  the  highest  tone,  from 
which  came  the  familiar  tune  :  "  Run,  Nigger,  Run,  or 
White  Man  '11  Catch  You,"  a  favourite  with  ante 
bellum  darkeys.  The  hand  that  held  the  bow  was  ban 
daged,  but  that  did  not  disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  the 
owner  or  injure  in  the  least  the  tune  he  scraped  from  the 
loved  instrument.  Near  the  door  a  gaunt  coon  hound 
was  peacefully  sleeping,  his  nose  between  his  forelegs, 
the  tips  of  his  flabby  ears  falling  to  the  earth.  In  front 
of  the  negro  stood  a  little  girl  with  clean  face  and 
smoothly  combed  hair.  She  was  clad  in  oddly  cut  gar 
ments,  very  prim,  stiff,  almost  fantastic,  but  faultlessly 
clean.  She  was  enjoying  the  music,  and  from  time  to 
time  would  clap  her  hands  and  dance  artlessly  and  joy 
ously.  The  lively  tune,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the 
player's  sedate  appearance,  was  accompanied  at  intervals 
with  snatches  of  songs,  of  which  the  following  are  fair 
samples : 

Ya  —  ya  — ya  —  ya  —  ya, 

Look  upon  de  mantelpiece, 
Han'  me  down  my  candle  grease, 
Grease  my  cart  an'  grease  my  gear, 
Grease  ole  Ball  behin'  de   ear. 
I4O 


Why  the  Honey  Bee,  &c. 

CHORUS. 

Dance,  chile,  dance.      An'  a  walk  ole  Hogan  walk, 
An'  a  walk  ole  Hogan  walk.      An'  a  walk  ole 
Hogan  walk,  ole  Hogan  walk  along. 
Ya  —  ya  —  ya  —  ya  —  ya. 

De  little  bee  suck  de  blossom, 

De  big  bee  make  de  honey, 
De  nigger  wo'k  terbacky,  an' 

De  white  man  spen'  de  money. 
CHORUS. 

Dance,  chile,  dance,  etc. 

When  I  went  down  ter  Shin  Bone  Shank, 

De  creek  wah  wide  an'  deep, 
I  put  my  foot  on  de  grey  goose'  back, 

An'  she  carried  me  'cross  de  creek. 
CHORUS. 

Dance,  chile,  dance,  etc. 

At  each  call  of  "  Dance,  chile,  dance,"  the  girl  pranced 
and  scampered  around  in  true  negro  style,  and  when  the 
chorus  was  over  waited  expectant  for  the  next  stanza. 
Occasionally  old  Cupe  excitedly  jumped  from  the  chair, 
holding  his  violin  and  bow  aloft  in  his  uninjured  hand, 
and  with  characteristic  negro  step  and  comical  motion 
joined  in  the  dance,  continuing  to  sing.  Then,  seating 
himself,  he  changed  the  tune  and  sang  a  few  verses,  the 
last  one  running  as  follows  : 

Some  fo'ks  say  dat  de  nigger  won't  steal, 

But  I  caught  six  in  my  corn  fiel', 
Tied  'em  down  wid  a  little  piece  ob  twine. 

Up  wid  my  whip  an'  I  gib  'em  ninety-nine. 

CHORUS. 

Dance,  chile,  dance,  etc. 

Wha'd  yo*  come  from,  knock  a  nigger  down, 

Wha'd  yo'  come  from,  Apalackytown. 
Wha'd  yo'  come  from,  knock  a  nigger  4Pwn> 

Wha'd  yo'  come  from,  Apalackytown. 
141 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

«  Oh,  Uncle  Cupe,"  chimed  in  the  child,  "  did  you 
whip  the  niggers  ?  " 

u  Yes,  chile,  yes,  and  heah  am  de  string  what  dey 
wah  tied  wid.  Ya,  ya."  And  old  Cupe  pulled  a  slender 
piece  of  twine  from  beneath  a  patch,  for  once  more  he 
wore  the  patched  garments  of  many  colours  that  had 
\>een  taken  from  him  during  his  imprisonment. 

"  Tell  me  a  story,  Uncle  Cupe.'* 

"  What  shall  et  be  'bout,  chile  ?  " 

u  Anything  you  will  tell  me." 

The  negro  cast  his  eyes  about,  and  they  rested  on  a 
jabbering  flock  of  ducks.  "  I  '11  tole  you  why  de  turkey 
say  c  tuck,  tuck '  an'  de  duck  say  *  day,  day.' ' 

The  child  clapped  her  hands. 

u  One  time  de  turkey  an*  de  duck  git  t'  yargerin' 
'bout  which  could  wake  fust  in  de  mahn'n.  An* 
befo'  dey  go  t'  sleep  dey  settle  de  mattah  by  'greein' 
among  demsels  dat  de  fust  dat  wake  should  tole  de 
uddah  dat  he  see  de  day.  Up  t'  dis  time  de  two  had 
roosted  t'geddah  on  de  groun',  but  dis  night  de  turkey 
tuhn  his  back  on  his  fren'.  De  ole  turkey  roost  up  in 
de  top  ob  de  tree,  an'  early  in  de  mahn'n  see  de  light 
creepin'  obah  de  hill ;  but  de  duck  who  sit  on  de  groun' 
could  n't  cotch  de  gleamin'.  An'  de  turkey  called  down, 
c  Tuck,  tuck,'  an'  de  duck  wake  up.  I  tole  yo',  chile, 
dat  de  duck  am  a  sly  crittah.  He  know  dat  de  stupid 
turkey  see  de  light,  but  dat  de  ole  fool  had  n't  sense  nufF 
t'  say  so.  An'  de  duck  hollah  back  '  Day,  day,  day  !  ' 
an*  he  win  de  bet.  Ebah  sense  dat  time  "  (and  Cupe 
looked  very  solemn)  u  de  turkey  hab  said,  'tuck,  tuck,' 
an'  de  duck  hab  said,  l  day,  day.'  Ebah  sense  dat  time 
de  turkey  hab  roost  in  de  tree  an'  de  duck  hab  sot  on  de 
earf.  Dese  birds  wah  close  fren's  once,  but  dey  hab 
monstrous  little  use  fo'  each  uddah  now." 

142 


Why  the  Honey  Bee,  &c. 

The  child  applauded  and  said  :  "  Tell  me  another 
story,  Uncle  Cupe." 

Again  the  negro  looked  about  for  an  object  lesson, 
and  caught  sight  of  a  honey  bee  sucking  a  white  clover 
head  in  the  grass-plot  at  his  feet. 

cc  I  '11  tole  yo'  why  de  honey  bee  doan  suck  red  clovah." 

The  child  repeated  her  applause,  and  the  old  negro 
continued  : 

"  When  de  Lawd  make  de  honey  bee  an'  de  bumble 
bee  he  make  red  an'  white  clovah  de  same  mahn'n'. 
An'  de  Lawd  take  de  two  bees  to  de  fieP  ob  clovah  an* 
he  sot  em  on  de  fence  an'  'pared  t'  gib  'em  some  'vice. 
An'  when  dem  bees  see  de  clovah  patch  an'  smell  de 
honey,  dey  doan  wait  fo'  no  moah  observashuns,  but  make 
a  bre'k  fo'  de  blos'm,  lebin'  de  Lawd  standin'  'side  de 
fence;  an'  dis  actin'  up  make  de  Lawd  pow'ful  cross. 
An'  he  grab  at  dem  two  bees  es  dey  fly  'way,  an*  cotch 
de  honey  bee ;  but  de  bumble  bee  wah  too  sharp  fo'  him 
an'  git  'way,  an'  he  hide  in  de  clovah  patch.  Den  de 
Lawd  say  t'  de  honey  bee,  what  he  hold  'twixt  his  fin- 
gahs :  c  Yo'  caint  git  'way  'til  yo'  make  up  yoah  min*  t' 
one  ob  two  tings.'  De  bee  ax  what  dey  wah,  an'  de 
Lawd  spoke  de  word  wid  be  bark  on  it : 

"  c  Ef  yo'  suck  red  clovah,  yo'  can't  wo'k  on  Sunday. 
Ef  yo'  wo'k  on  week-days  an'  Sundays,  too,  yo'  can't 
suck  red  clovah.  Yo'  kin  take  yoah  ch'ice.' 

"  An'  den  de  bee,  he  know  de  Lawd  am  in  earnest, 
an'  he  debate  de  subject  obah  'til  de  Lawd  git  tired  ob 
waitin',  an'  say  :  c  Ef  yo'  doan  make  yoah  min'  up  pow' 
ful  quick  yo'  11  git  de  life  squeezed  out  ob  yo' ; '  an'  he 
gib  dat  bee  a  leetle  squeeze.  An'  den  de  honey  bee 
hollah  out  dat  he  choose  t'  wo'k  eb'ry  day  ob  de  week, 
Sunday  an'  all.  So  de  Lawd  make  him  promise  not  t' 
suck  red  clovah  blos'm,  ef  he  'low  him  t'  wo'k  on  Sun- 

143 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

day,  an'  de  honey  bee  hab  nebbah  suck  a  Aead  ob  red 
clovah,  nebbah.  But  de  bumble  bee,  what  did  n't  make  no 
promise  t'  de  Lawd,  suck  bof  red  an'  white  clovah  week 
day  an'  Sunday."  Again  the  child  clapped  her  hands,  and 
Cupe  thrust  a  fresh  leaf  of  tobacco  into  his  flabby  mouth. 

"  Tell  me  another  story,  Uncle." 

The  negro  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  unbound  hand, 
and  gazed  intently  over  the  distant  hill.  "  Chile,  what 
yo'  see  com'n'  obah  de  rise  on  de  Stringtown  paff?  " 
The  girl  turned  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  quickly 
answered  :  u  A  man,  Uncle." 

"Jump  down,  honey,  run  t*  Aunt  Dinah."  Cupe 
arose  with  this  unceremonious  dismissal  and  walked 
toward  the  man,  muttering  as  he  did  so  :  "  PYaps  et  es 
bes'  ef  de  conbersashun  ain't  hea'd  by  de  honey  chile; 
dah  hab  be'n  bodin'  signs  ob  late,  an'  et  may  be  bes'  fo' 
Cupe  t'  be  alone.  Las'  night  when  de  moon  go  down, 
de  cheer  an'  de  table  creek  an'  crack,  de  kettle  move  on 
de  harf,  de  doah  push  in  an'  out,  but  dah  wa'n't  no  wind. 
De  sign  wah  bad,  an*  Cupe  am  suah  dat  trouble  am 
movin'  'bout."  He  turned  back  at  this  juncture,  and 
spoke  to  the  sleeping  hound  :  "  Yo'  may  come,  Dgawge 
Wash'nVn,"  and  the  old  dog,  obedient  to  his  master's 
word,  arose,  yawned  and  came  to  his  side. 

The  stranger  was  Mr.  Wagner,  who  was  warmly  wel 
comed  by  the  negro.  Well  might  Cupe  bid  him  a 
cordial  good-day,  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  by 
means  of  the  patient  instruction  of  Mr.  Wagner,  illiter 
ate  Cupe  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States,  and  thus  saved  himself  a  term  in  the 
penitentiary.  The  tragic  occurrence,  vivid  in  the  mind 
of  the  old  negro,  led  him,  on  meeting  the  clerk,  to  ex 
travagance  of  speech  and  to  thanks  so  prolific  as  to  give 
the  hearer  no  opportunity  to  say  a  word. 

144 


Why  the  Honey  Bee,  &c. 

tt  An'  t'  t'ink  dat  Cupe  distrusted  yo'  when  he  seed 
yo'  com'n'  an*  feared  dat  yo'  brung  bad  news.  Wah 
dah  ebah  so  mighty  a  'stake  !  Come  into  de  house, 
Ma'se,  an'  take  a  glass  ob  milk  an'  see  de  chile  what 
yo'  gladden  wid  de  sight  ob  Uncle  Cupe.  Et  wah  a 
mighty  close  shave,  Ma'se,  an'  t'  t'ink  dat  Cupe  wah 
afeard  yo'  brung  bad  news." 

The  visitor  entered  the  cabin  and  partook  of  a  drink 
of  fresh  buttermilk,  but  notwithstanding  Cupe's  cordial 
welcome  seemed  ill  at  ease.  At  last  he  said  :  "  Cupid, 
you  are  aware,  are  you  not,  that  I  am  appointed  guar 
dian  for  this  little  girl  ?  What 's  her  name  ?  " 

The  countenance  of  the  negro  changed  in  an  instant, 
and  he  gave  expression  to  the  oft-repeated  sentence  of 
surprise. 

"Spoke  ag'n,  Ma'se.     De  name  am  Susie." 

u  I  have  been  appointed  guardian  for  Susie." 

u  Yo'  hab  moah  t'  say  ;  go  on." 

"  You  know,  Cupid,  that  this  is  not  an  appropriate 
place  to  bring  up  a  child.  You  and  Dinah  have  not 
the  opportunities  necessary  to  the  education  and  culti 
vation  of  the  girl.  She  is  the  heir  of  this  large  farm, 
and  should  have  the  advantages  of  a  good  education,  and 
the  company  of  playmates  befitting  her  station." 

The  shrewd  negro  intuitively  grasped  the  meaning 
of  the  pointed  words  of  Mr.  Wagner. 

"  An'  why  doan  yo'  let  de  nigger  go  ter  de  pen'tensh'ry 
ef  yo'  'tend  t'  take  'way  de  chile  ?  What  fo'  yo'  lead 
him  back  t'  sorrah  ?  Stan'  up,  Dinah,  an'  beg  fo'  de 
sake  ob  de  honey  deah.  Yo'  doan  mean  et,  Ma'se 
Wagnah,  yo'  doan  mean  et  ;  yo*  am  jokin'  wid  de  poo* 
ole  man.  Yo'  'udn't  take  de  blos'm,  yo'  udn't  cave 
in  de  heaht  ob  de  two  ole  fo'ks  ?  " 

"  Cupid,  I  am  in  earnest.  The  child  must  remain  in 
10  145 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

my  care  in  Stringtown.     Judge  Klford  appointed  me  ad 
ministrator." 

The  old  slave  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  with  uplifted 
hands,  with  all  the  force  and  extravagance  of  the  negro 
language,  begged  for  the  child  he  had  raised.  u  De 
honey  am  our  chile,  I  foun'  de  baby  an*  its  muddah  half 
starved  on  de  grabe  in  Bloody  Hollah.  We  wahm  et 
by  dc  fiah,  we  sit  up  in  de  night,  an*  watch  obah  et  in 
de  day  j  we  promise  de  ma'se  what  wah  t'  keer  fo'  et  cs 
ef  et  wah  de  baby  chile  ob  de  ma'se  hisse'f.  Yo*  won't 
take  de  pritty  chile  'way,  et  am  de  light  ob  day  t'  de  two 
ole  fo'ks  who  hain't  nuffin  else  t'  lib  fo'." 

"  It  must  be,  Cupid  :  for  the  child's  sake,  it  is  best. 
However,  you  need  not  feel  so  disconsolate.  Aunt  Di 
nah  and  yourself  will  have  opportunities  to  visit  Susie 
often,  and  she  can  come  to  the  cabin  occasionally.  Re 
member,  this  is  her  cabin  and  land,  you  and  Dinah  arc 
her  slaves,  and  you  may  have  the  care  of  the  land  and 
live  here." 

But  explanations  and  soft  words  made  no  impression 
on  either  of  the  negroes.  Although  Cupid  did  all  the 
supplicating,  it  could  be  seen  that  Dinah  was  not  less 
IHM it-stricken.  She  stood  by  Cupe's  side  and  silently 
wept,  clasping  the  frightened  child,  who  did  not  under- 
stand,  yet  realised  that  she  was  concerned  in  the  trouble 
that  had  fallen  on  her  two  friends,  the  only  friends  she 
knew  in  the  world.  Weeping  she  clung  to  the  neck  of 
the  old  woman. 

But  the  scene  finally  came  to  an  end,  and  Mr.  Wag 
ner  insisted  that  the  child  be  given  to  his  care.  "  You 
may  bring  her  clothes  later,  Cupe,"  he  added. 

41  De  clo's  will  come  befo'  da'k,"  replied  the  old  man, 
"  but  yo'  bettah  let  dc  chile  change  dem  ole  slippahs  fo' 
de  new  pair.  Dem  wah  put  on  fo'  de  purpose  ob  de 

146 


Why  the  Honey  Bee,  &c. 

dance."     The  change  was  made,  and  then  Cupe  offered 
no  further  objection  to  the  decision  of  the  Court. 

Clasping  the  frightened  little  girl  in  his  arms  her  un 
couth  but  kind-hearted  benefactor  retreated  along  the 
path  by  which  he  came.  The  sobbing  child  made  no 
resistance  nor  outcry.  Cupe  stood  in  the  cabin  door, 
the  violin  lay  at  his  feet,  the  flock  of  ducks  jabbered  be 
side  the  fence,  but  were  unheard,  the  bumble  bee  buzzed 
in  the  clover  patch,  but  unseen.  There  was  no  song 
now  in  the  heart  of  the  forlorn  man,  no  music,  no  folk 
lore  stories  in  his  soul.  His  eyes  followed  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  lank  officer  with  the  child  in  his  arms,  until 
together  they  vanished  beyond  the  crest  of  the  distant 
hill.  Then  his  gaze  turned  upon  the  vacant  spot 
where,  a  short  time  before,  Susie  had  danced  to  the  tune 
of  his  merry  violin,  and  a  tear  sprang  to  his  eyes  and 
rolled  down  his  wrinkled  cheek — the  first  tear  he  had 
shed  during  the  sorrowful  interview.  Old  George 
Washington  lay  curled  up  beside  the  door,  and  Dinah 
on  her  knees,  holding  in  her  hand  a  child's  plaything  — 
a  gourd  cut  to  look  like  the  head  of  a  man  —  moaned 
inside  the  cabin.  uAn'  dah  wah  trouble  com'n',"  said 
Cupe;  ude  sign  couldn't  lie.  When  de  table  an*  de 
cheer  talk  t'geddah,  an'  de  doah  move  in  an'  out  in  de 
still  night,  et  am  a  sign  ob  saht'n  trouble.  But  dah  am 
deeper  trouble  yit  to  come ;  when  de  two  boys  mix  in 
de  'fairs  ob  de  honey  gearl,  dah  am  worsah  trouble  fo* 
Cupe." 

Then  he  spoke  to  Dinah :  tc  Git  up,  yo'  fool  nigger, 
what  fo*  yo'  blubberin'  like  a  sick  sheep  ?  Doan  yo' 
knovr  dat  eb'ry  fellah  hab  t'  stan'  his  own  toofache  ? 
Doan  yo'  know  dat  cryin'  salty  tears  doan  stop  no  bleed 
ing  heaht  ?  Git  de  chile  some  clo's,  fo'  de  night  am 
com'n' ! " 

147 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

A  little  while  later  the  devoted  man  might  have  been 
seen  slowly  trudging  along  the  path  the  clerk  had  trod; 
over  his  shoulder  he  carried  a  bundle  containing  the 
clothing  of  the  child  ;  now  at  his  heels,  with  downcast 
head,  as  if  he  entered  into  the  sorrow  of  his  master, 
walked  George  Washington. 


14$ 


CHAPTER  XXII 

<c  GOD    MADE    DE    SIGN  " 

THE  home  of  Mr.  Wagner  was  on  the  Stringtown 
pike,  about  one-third  of  the  distance  between  the 
southern  and  the  northern  extremities  of  the  village. 
Its  owner  was  not  in  affluent  circumstances;  still  he 
lived  comfortably.  An  unmarried  sister  acted  as  house 
keeper,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  determine  by 
their  countenances  which  was  the  older.  However,  no 
question  could  arise  concerning  their  relationship,  for 
the  maiden  lady,  fully  as  spare  and  nearly  as  tall  as  her 
lank  brother,  possessed  features  so  similar  as  to  bespeak 
the  close  family  connection.  Her  face  was  kindly  in  its 
expression,  and  it  was  evident  that  Susie  had  fallen  into 
good  hands.  The  thoughtful  judge  had  made  no  mis 
take  in  the  selection  of  the  child's  guardian. 

To  this  home,  that  rested  its  face  against  the  edge 
of  the  pike,  and  its  heel-like  shed  in  the  narrow  lot  that 
stretched  back  to  the  woodland  pasture,  the  village  clerk 
carried  the  unwilling  charge  he  had  taken  from  the  home 
of  Cupe.  The  girl  was  still  sobbing  ;  she  had  refused 
the  kindly  advances  of  such  of  the  neighbours  as  chanced 
to  be  in  the  street,  and  would  not  be  comforted.  It 
chanced  that  I  stood  before  my  mother's  door  as,  to 
gether  with  her  new  guardian,  she  passed  by,  but  she 
gave  no  sign  of  recognition  when  I  called  her  name. 
Judge  Elford  came  out  of  his  house  and  took  her  kindly 
by  the  hand,  but  she  buried  her  face  in  the  shoulder  of 

149 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  man  who  carried  her,  and  refused  to  speak.  The 
sister  of  Mr.  Wagner  was  alike  unsuccessful  ;  she  could 
get  no  kind  word  ;  the  untamed  child  refused  to  eat  and 
refused  to  play.  She  fell  asleep  sobbing,  and  was  gently 
laid  on  the  little  bed  that  had  been  prepared  for  her  by 
the  expectant  and  puzzled  spinster.  Then  it  was  that  a 
tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  on  opening  it  the  benr 
form  of  Cupe  appeared.  Handing  Miss  Wagner  the 
package  of  clothes,  he  silently  turned  away  and  vanished 
in  the  darkness. 

A  few  moments  later  Judge  Elford  was  disturbed  by 
a  similar  knock,  and  opened  the  door  to  find  the  dis 
consolate  negro  on  the  threshold. 

At  the  pressing  invitation  of  the  judge,  Cupe  stepped 
inside  the  door,  but,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of 
old  slaves,  refused  to  sit  down. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Cupid  ?  " 

"  De  light  ob  de  cabin  am  gone,  de  clouds  am  risen, 
an*  Cupe  ax  fo'  comfo't." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  repeated  the  judge. 

u  Yo'  kin  send  de  man  ob  sorrah  ter  de  pen'tensh'ry, 
fo'  he  ain't  no  moah  use  heah.  Yo'  kin  do  de  duty  yo' 
spoke  'bout  las'  week,  Ma'se  Elford." 

"Indeed  I  cannot.  You  have  freed  yourself  from  the 
penitentiary  by  the  Right  of  Clergy." 

"  De  law  am  pow'ful  strong  when  a  man  wan's  et 
weak,  an'  monstrous  weak  when  a  man  wan's  et  strong ; 
ef  a  man  wan's  t'  git  out  ob  de  pen'tensh'ry  he  can't  git 
de  doah  op'n,  case  ob  de  law ;  ef  he  wants  t'  git  into  de 
pen'tensh'ry  he  can't  git  dah  case  ob  de  law.  De  law 
am  monstrous  cu'yus." 

u  But  you  don't  want  to  go  to  the  penitentiary, 
Cupe  ?  " 

"'Deed  I  does,  case  dah  ain't  nuffin  t'  lib  fo'  out  ob 
150 


"God  made  de  Sign" 

et  now  dat  yo'  hab  took  de  chile  'way.  She  am  white 
an'  Cupe  am  brack ;  but  de  chile  wah  raised  from  a  baby 
by  de  brack  man ;  de  ole  nigger  promise  Ma'se  Hard- 
man  t'  keer  fo'  her  'til  deff  come,  an'  he  promise  de 
muddah  ob  de  chile  befo'  God  t'  watch  obah  her  'til  she 
wah  able  t'  keer  fo'  herse'f.  Dese  am  serous  tings 
t'  promise  t'  de  ma'se  what  am  dead  an'  t'  de  angel 
mammy,  an'  t'  bre'k  de  wo'd  am  wicked,  an'  Cupe  doan 
want  t'  be  walkin'  free  an'  not  doin'  what  he  say  on  his 
knees  he  'ud  do.  Ef  de  nigger  am  in  de  pen'tensh'ry 
an  de  dead  ma'se  come  an*  say  in  a  dream  :  c  Why  ain't 
yo'  keerin'  fo'  de  blos'm  ? '  Cupe  kin  say  back  :  c  Caint 
yo'  see  dat  de  nigger  am  in  de  jail  ? '  Ef  de  sperrit  ob  de 
muddah  ob  de  chile  come  floatin'  into  de  cabin  an*  say : 
c  Wha'  am  de  baby  Susie  what  yo'  fin'  on  de  grabe  in 
Bloody  Hollah  ? '  what  kin  Cupe  say  ef  he  am  free  t' 
walk  'bout  ?  'Deed,  Ma'se  Elford,  I  does  wan'  t'  go  t' 
de  pen'tensh'ry,  an'  ef  yo'  keer  fo'  de  peace  ob  min'  ob 
de  ole  man  yo  '11  sen'  him  dah." 

u  Go  home,  Cupid,  go  home  and  sleep.  You  will 
(eel  better  in  the  morning.  Susie  is  well,  has  a  good 
home,  and  will  see  you  often." 

"  An*  yo'  won't  lis'n  t'  de  claim  ob  de  sah'rin' 
nigger  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

The  old  negro  opened  the  door  and  hesitated  on  the 
sill.  "  An'  yo'  caint  sen'  de  nigger  t'  de  pen'tensh'ry  ?  " 

"  No,  Cupid." 

"  An'  yo'  caint  gib  him  back  de  chile  ?  " 

The  judge  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  yo'  see  wha'  Cupe  am  stan'n'  ?  Et  am  on  de 
doah-sill,  Ma'se  Elford,  an'  dat  sign  say  bad  luck  t'  yoah 
argyment.  Lis'n  t'  what  de  ole  nigger  tole  yo'  now. 
De  law  say  dat  de  chile  can't  lib  wid  Cupe,  but  de  sign 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

say  dat  she  mus'  lib  wid  Cupe  —  ef  she  lib.  Ef  de  law 
am  right,  de  sign  am  wrong.  Who  made  de  law  ?  "  he 
vehemently  asked. 

u  Wise  and  good  men,"  replied  the  judge. 

"  An*  God  make  de  sign.  Do  de  wise  man  set  hisse'f 
'bove  de  Lawd  ?  Ma'se  Elford,  yo  '11  lib  t'  see  dat  dc 
Lawd  am  biggah  dan  de  law." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SUSIE    IS    LOST 

JUDGE  Elford  found  as  the  days  passed  that  the 
child  whose  lot  had  been  cast  among  the  negroes 
refused  to  be  comforted  by  her  friendly  benefactors. 
She  moved  about  disconsolate  in  her  new  home,  spirit 
less  and  moping  the  hours  away.  She  shrank  from  Miss 
Wagner,  she  asked  for  no  love,  and  gave  none.  To 
escape  the  gaze  of  men  and  children,  she  would  sit  for 
hours  in  the  back  yard  of  the  cottage,  where,  secure 
from  prying  eyes,  she  spent  the  time  listlessly  gazing  at 
the  sky  or  the  forest  in  the  distance.  Neither  Cupe  nor 
Dinah  visited  her,  and  both  declared  they  would  never 
do  so.  The  entreaties  of  the  judge  and  Mr.  Wagner, 
even  the  threats  of  the  latter,  made  no  impression  on 
either  of  them. 

"  Ef  yo'  caint  keer  fo*  de  chile,  what  fo*  yo'  took  her 
'way  from  de  home  wha'  she  wah  happy  ?  Ef  Cupe 
go  t'  see  de  honey,  it  '11  only  make  de  mattah  wussah, 
fo'  she  '11  cry  her  eyes  out  when  he  come  back." 

"  But  you  can  tell  her  that  it  is  best  for  her  to  stay  in 
her  new  home.  You  can  explain  to  her  that  she  can 
be  happy  if  she  will  try  to  forget  her  past  life." 

"  An'  dah  am  uddah  tings  Cupe  could  tole  her  what  ain't 
true  es  easy  es  dat,  but  de  fac'  am  yo'  tire  yo'selb  tryin' 
t'  'fluence  Cupe  t'  do  anything  t'  circumbent  de  spell. 
Dah  am  but  one  outcome  t'  dis  heah  mattah,  eidah  yo' 

153 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

mus'  let  de  chile  lib  wha'  she  b'long  er  yo  '11  Stan'  'side 
her  grabe.  De  spell  say  dah  am  no  uddah  endinY* 

Persuasions  were  of  no  avail.  Cupe  had  a  ready  an 
swer  for  every  argument  and  sat  looking  as  glum  as  a 
death's-head.  Thus  the  child  lived  in  her  new  home 
until  one  morning  when  the  care-worn  housekeeper  went 
to  awaken  her,  the  little  bed  was  found  empty.  The 
girl  had  disappeared.  The  day  before  she  had  asked 
some  trivial  questions,  and  in  the  course  of  her  conver 
sation  had  referred  to  one  of  Cupe's  wild  sayings.  Miss 
Wagner  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  explain  that  Cupid 
was  mistaken  in  his  methods,  and  that  in  time  the  child 
would  understand  his  errors.  Susie  stood  with  down 
cast  eyes,  from  which  fell  a  few  glistening  tears.  It 
was  evident  that  she  took  the  disparagement  of  Cupe  to 
heart.  She  left  the  room,  seated  herself  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  back  yard,  and  to  the  time  of  going  to  bed  did 
not  speak  a  word.  The  next  morning  the  child  and  her 
garments  were  missing.  From  beneath  the  very  touch 
of  her  faithful  guardian,  catlike  she  had  slipped  out,  and 
into  the  back  yard,  out  and  into  the  great  wide  world 
of  which  she  knew  so  little.  Could  the  sleepers  in  the 
modest  dwelling  have  seen  her  that  night,  they  would 
have  seen  her  clasp  her  garments  in  her  arms,  and  in 
bare  feet  tiptoe  to  the  kitchen  door  ;  they  would  have 
seen  her  turn  the  key  as  cautiously  as  an  experienced 
burglar  might  do,  then,  with  instinctive  forethought,  re- 
close  and  lock  the  door  from  the  outside ;  after  which, 
in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  the  artful  child  dressed 
herself  rapidly,  even  to  carefully  tying  her  shoes.  At 
last,  stealing  through  the  little  garden,  she  climbed  the 
back  fence  into  the  woodland  pasture  and  ran  toward  the 
distant  forest. 

A  startling  whisper  went  from  mouth  to  mouth  in 
154 


Susie  is  Lost 

Stringtown,  when  the  news  went  forth  that  the  ward  of 
Mr.  Wagner  had  disappeared.  The  search,  begun  in 
expectation  of  soon  finding  the  child,  continued  through 
the  entire  day.  Wells  and  cisterns  were  probed,  ponds 
were  dragged. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CUPE'S   ADVICE    TO   HIS   DOG 

MR.  WAGNER  at  once  visited  Cupe,  taking  me 
along,  for  1  was  known  to  be  a  close  friend  of 
the  old  negro.  He  was  sitting  in  the  accustomed  chair 
beside  his  cabin  door.  He  had  turned  for  solace  to  his 
faithful  violin,  and  long  before  the  visitors  reached  the 
cabin  we  caught  the  mournful  tones  of  a  plaintive  tune 
that  spoke  the  mood  of  the  musician's  mind.  George 
Washington  looked  up  and  growled,  but,  evidently  un 
der  the  command  of  an  undertone  from  his  master, 
closed  his  eyes  and  lowered  his  head.  Cupe  gave  no 
sign  of  salutation  ;  he  continued  his  dolorous  tune  until 
the  intruders  stood  close  before  him,  and  could  distin 
guish  a  few  lines  of  one  of  the  most  plaintive  of  negro 
melodies : 

Yo*  ask  what  make  dis  niggah  weep, 

Why  he  like  uddahs  am  not  gay, 
What  make  de  teahs  roll  down  his  cheek 
From  early  dawn  till  broke  ob  day  ? 

Interrupting  the  song,  Cupe  lowered  his  violin,  arose 
and  placed  his  chair  before  the  man,  but  took  no  notice 
of  me. 

w  What  are  you  doing,  Uncle  Cupe  ?  " 

"Sah'rinV 

w  Have  you  seen  Susie  ?  " 

"  No  sah." 

156 


Cupe's  Advice  to  his  Dog 

"  She  disappeared  last  night." 

"  I  hab  n't  seed  nuffin  ob  her." 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  she  had  returned  to  her  old 
home." 

"  She  hab  not  be'n  heah,  an*  I  hab  not  seed  de 
chile." 

"  You  are  sure,  Cupe,  that  you  know  nothing  of  her 
whereabouts  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  seed  her,  I  tole  yo',  an'  I  hain't  hea'd  from 
her  sense  yo'  took  her  'way." 

"  You  will  help  us  search  for  her,  Cupid  ?  You 
know  the  land  well,  you  will  assist  in  her  recovery  ?  " 

"  I  hab  had  nuffin  t'  do  wid  de  takin'  ob  de  honey, 
an'  I  will  hab  nuffin  t'  do  wid  de  bre'kin'  ob  de  spell. 
De  cheer  an'  de  table  talk  ag'n  last  night,  de  doah  shake 
in  an'  out,  an'  Cupe  wah  waitin'  fo'  news  ob  trouble." 

He  dropped  his  voice,  and  added  :  "  An'  when 
Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  an'  Cupe  go  out  t'  trail  de  coon, 
de  headless  dog  come  ag'n.  Et  wah  down  by  the  bars 
wha'  de  ole  man  Doty  wah  killed,  an  de  hant  dog  slip 
close  an'  trot  by  Cupe's  side,  an'  when  Cupe  walk 
slow  de  dog  widout  de  head  go  slow,  an'  when  Cupe 
move  fas',  de  hant  move  fas'.  An'  nuffin  but  nigger 
kin  see  dat  sign  ;  ole  Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  could  n't  see 
de  crittah.  Et  wah  a  monstrous  bad  sign,  an'  Cupe  tink 
ob  de  chile  an'  pray  de  Lawd  dat  de  sign  wah  not  pintin' 
t'  de  yinnecent  chile." 

Mr.  Wagner,  realising  that  he  was  losing  time  arguing 
with  the  superstitious  old  man,  turned  to  go. 

"  Yo'  had  better  look  in  de  cabin  befo'  yo'  lebe ;  yo' 
might  feel  es  ef  de  nigger  had  'varicated  ef  yo'  doan." 

Cupe  opened  the  door,  and  Mr.  Wagner  stepped  into 
the  room.  Dinah  sat  beside  the  hearth  with  bowed 
head,  but  no  other  person  was  to  be  seen.  Cupe 

157 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

pointed  to  each  corner,  to  the  empty  space  beneath  the 
bed,  and  conducted  his  visitor  into  the  loft,  which  con 
tained  no  visible  objects  excepting  the  iron  chest,  some 
strings  of  dried  corn,  bunches  of  seeds  and  medicinal 
roots  and  herbs  that  hung  about  the  rafters. 

Leaving  the  house,  Cupe  insisted  on  a  search  being 
made  of  the  shed-stable  ;  indeed,  he  seemed  afraid  that 
some  spot  in  which  the  child  could  be  secreted  might  be 
overlooked.  As  Mr.  Wagner  entered  the  door  of  the 
shed-stable,  my  old  black  friend  spoke  to  me  in  a  low 
tone :  "  Did  yo'  see  de  Red-Head  Boy  ag'in  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Keep  yoah  eye  op'n,  peel  yoah  eye  fo'  dat  chile." 

Whatever  else  he  might  have  said  was  lost,  for  at  this 
point  Mr.  Wagner  returned  from  his  fruitless  search  of 
the  shed  and  announced  his  intention  to  return  to 
Stringtown. 

As  the  visitors  departed,  Cupe  bestowed  upon  them 
a  rery  low  bow,  and  having  returned  to  his  cabin  and 
seated  himself  on  the  familiar  chair,  reached  up  to  the 
hand  of  tobacco  over  his  head,  stripped  a  part  of  a  leaf 
and  thrust  it  between  his  flabby  lips. 

u  Come  heah,  Dgawge  Wash'nVn,"  he  commanded  ; 
and  the  four-footed  friend  laid  its  lank  head  on  the  knee 
of  his  master,  who  took  its  nose  between  his  thumb  and 
finger.  u  Yo'  hab  work  t'  do,  Dgawge,  wo'k  t'  do  t'- 
night,  Dgawge  Wash'nYn.  When  yo'  hab  wo'k  t'  do 
keep  yoah  nose  cool." 

"  Dinah,"  he  cried,  "  Dinah,  don't  yo'  gib  Dgawge 
nuffin  t'  eat  till  mahn'n." 


I58 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE    HAUNTED    HOLLOW 

THE  remainder  of  the  day  indolent  old  Cupe  sat  in 
his  chair,  seemingly  contented  when  awake,  but  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  say  just  how  much  of  the 
time  he  was  awake.  Occasionally  he  hummed  a  negro 
melody,  again  he  would  change  the  exhausted  tobacco 
leaf  between  his  lips  for  a  fresh  one,  but  much  of  the 
time  with  closed  eyes  he  sat  motionless.  Just  before 
the  setting  sun  reached  the  horizon  its  slanting  rays 
streamed  into  his  face,  and  then  he  called  to  Dinah  : 
"  Brung  de  ole  slippahs  ob  de  honey  chile  and  call  Dgawge 
into  de  cabin  an*  den  shet  bof  de  doahs,  an'  keep  him 
dah." 

Dinah  obeyed  without  question. 

Cupe  took  two  tobacco-sticks  and  fastened  the  shoes, 
one  to  the  end  of  each.  He  began  then  to  walk  side 
ways,  holding  the  sticks  at  arm's  length,  so  that  the 
shoes  hung  near  the  earth  far  outside  his  own  tracks.  In 
this  manner  he  slowly  passed  along,  and  as  he  did  so 
caused  the  shoes  to  step  as  if  a  child  were  walking  par 
allel  with  his  own  footsteps.  Across  the  dooryard,  over 
the  fence,  down  and  across  the  little  creek  at  the  base 
of  the  hill,  he  trudged,  and  then,  making  a  circuit,  he 
came  back  again  to  the  starting-place. 

cc  De  deed  am  done,  an'  now  dis  nigger  '11  see  ef 
Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  am  in  fix  fo'  de  work  ob  his  life. 
Let  de  dawg  out,  Dinah !  Come  heah,  Dgawge." 

159 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

The  dog  trotted  out  of  the  house.  Taking  the  nose 
of  the  brute  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  as  he  had 
done  before,  the  negro  muttered :  "  Et  am  cool  an* 
pleasant  like  t'  de  touch  —  de  nose  am  fixed  fo'  de 
work.  Yo'  see  dese  slippahs,  Dgawge  ?  "  —  and  Cupe 
held  them  before  the  eyes  of  the  dog  —  "  Yo*  see  dese 
heah  slippahs  ?  " 

The  dog  whined  gently. 

"  Yo'  am  no  fool,  Dgawge,  but  yo'  bettah  smell  de 
leather,  fo'  yo'  hain't  no  time  fo'  'stakes  now,"  and 
with  these  words  the  shoes  were  held  to  the  dog's 
nose. 

"  Now  am  yo'  ready  fo'  de  test  ob  yoah  life, 
Dgawge  ?  Go  fin'  Susie !  Go  fin'  de  chile !  Hunt 
fo'  Susie,  Dgawge  !  " 

At  once  the  old  cur  thrust  his  nose  close  to  the  earth 
and  began  a  zigzag  trot  about  the  dooryard.  Cupe 
watched  him  intently,  and  when  he  neared  the  trail  of 
the  slippers  became  visibly  excited.  At  this  instant  the 
bound  stopped ;  raising  his  head  and  dropping  his  lower 
jaw  slightly,  he  gave  a  cry  that  stirred  the  heart  of  his 
master  with  pleasure. 

u  Yo'  am  tellin'  de  truff,  suah !  yoj  am  de  crittah 
what  kin  keep  yoah  nose  cool  ef  de  weddah  am  wahm. 
Fin'  Susie,  Dgawge  !  Go  fo'  Susie  !  " 

In  reply,  the  dog  started  in  a  long  lope  with  extended 
nose  scarce  depressed  toward  the  earth,  thus  showing 
the  acuteness  of  the  trail ;  following  the  exact  course 
of  the  circle  Cupe  had  made,  he  returned  to  the  starting- 
point.  "  Yo'  am  a  daisy  of  a  dawg,  yo'  hab  wo'k  t' 
do,  but  yo'  don't  git  no  suppah  till  yo'  do  et.  Keep 
yoah  nose  cool,  Dgawge." 

Carefully  putting  the  slippers  into  his  breeches' 
pocket,  Cupe,  in  obedience  to  the  call  of  Dinah,  step- 

1 60 


The  Haunted  Hollow 

ped  inside  his  cabin  to  partake  of  his  own  supper, 
while  the  hungry  dog  lingered  outside  the  door. 

Returning  after  the  meal  was  over,  the  old  man 
looked  at  the  star-bedecked  sky,  from  which  the  last 
tinge  of  twilight  was  fast  fading,  and  then  glanced  at 
the  spot  where  his  dumb  comrade  rested. 

u  De  hour  hab  come,  Dgawge,  de  hour  ob  trial." 

Slipping  on  a  roundabout  jacket  that  hung  on  a  nail 
near  the  corn-shuck  chair,  and  thrusting  into  its  pocket 
a  twist  of  leaf-tobacco,  the  old  man  turned  to  the  open 
door.  "  Dinah,"  he  said,  "  ef  yo'  doan  see  de  dawg  an* 
me  befo'  mahn'n,  dah  ain't  no  cause  fo'  feah." 

"  De  moon  doan  rose  'til  midnight ;  what  fo'  yo'  go 
ahftah  de  coon  now?"  asked  Dinah. 

u  Nebbah  yo'  min'  de  moon ;  dah  am  uddah  crittahs 
dan  coons." 

"  Yo'  hab  lef '  yoah  ax,  Cupe,  yo'  hab  lef '  yoah  ax  !  " 
cried  Dinah,  as  her  husband  disappeared  in  the  gloom. 

u  Dah  am  no  need  fo'  de  ax  t'-night ;  de  crittah  what 
we  hunts  now  am  not  in  de  tree  no'  in  de  grapevine 
tangle." 

The  huntsman  and  his  dog  were  now  alone  together 
in  the  starlight. 

Taking  the  path  toward  Stringtown,  their  course  led 
them  toward  the  brow  of  the  hill.  But  before  reaching 
the  hill  Cupe  struck  the  toe  of  his  left  foot  violently 
against  a  projecting  stone.  He  immediately  stopped, 
turned  back,  retraced  his  steps  to  the  door  of  the  cabin, 
and  then  recommenced  his  journey,  muttering : 

"  Ef  et  had  be'n  the  right  toe,  et  'ud  hab  be'n  a  sign 
ob  good  luck,  but  t'  stump  de  lef  toe  am  an  ebil  sign. 
Dah  ain't  no  resk  t'  be  run  t'-night.  Dah  ain't  —  " 

The  slave  stopped,  his  bent  body  sunk  yet  nearer  the 
earth ;  his  mouth,  still  open,  left  the  sentence  incom- 
"  161 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

plete.  He  heard  a  rustle  in  the  grass  just  before  him, 
and  then  a  full-grown  rabbit  hopped  into  the  path,  halted 
momentarily,  turned  its  great  eyes,  that  yet  glittered  in 
the  dusk,  full  upon  the  negro,  and  with  a  bound  crossed 
the  path  and  disappeared  in  the  briars. 

"  De  wussest  sign  what  could  be ;  de  rabbet  nebbah 
cross  de  paff  outen  de  journey  am  leadin'  t'  hahm.  An* 
et  stop  t'  say,  c  Go  back,  go  back,  yo'  nigger,  go 
back !  *  De  crittah  say  et  wid  ets  eyes.  Monstrous 
bad  am  de  endin'  ob  de  walk  ob  de  man  who  go  on  when 
de  rabbet  cross  de  paff  ahead  ob  him.  Dat  wah  not  a 
libbin'  rabbet,  fo'  de  dawg  did  n't  see  er  smell  et.  Et 
wah  a  hant." 

Back  to  the  cabin  went  the  negro  and  taking  two  ob 
jects  from  a  string  behind  the  door,  he  carefully  placed 
them  in  his  pocket.  "  De  cha'ms  wah  fergotten,  an'  de 
hant  rabbet  know  et  —  de  cha'ms  t'  keep  off  de  hoodoo 
from  Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  an*  Cupe.  Now  de  start  am 
right." 

Having  thus  corrected  a  grave  blunder,  Cupe  moved 
rapidly  until  he  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Leaving 
the  path  at  this  point,  he  sought  a  small  thicket,  within 
which,  by  daylight,  could  have  been  seen  an  enclosure  of 
stone  that  marked  the  foundation  of  an  old  building.  At 
each  end  of  the  ruin  two  piles  of  stones  were  crumbling 
in  the  weather,  the  debris  of  the  chimneys  of  the  haunted 
mansion. 

"Dgawge,"  said  the  negro  addressing  his  dog,  "yo' 
am  in  de  sacredest  spot  on  earf,  de  spot  wha'  de  missus 
slep'  her  las'  sleep.  De  shinin'  face  ob  de  suff'in'  chile 
wah  tu'n'  t'  glory  from  wha'  stan'  de  'simmon  tree  by 
yoah  side.  An*  Cupe  he  kneel  on  de  flo'  ob  de  mansion 
what  wah,  an*  hoi'  de  dyin'  han'.  De  sah'rin'  times 
am  back  ag'in,  Dgawge,  de  eye  ob  de  missus  look  into 

162 


The  Haunted  Hollow 

de  heaht  ob  de  nigger,  de  sweet  face  rise  up  an*  speak 
'bout  de  blos'm  ob  a  chile  she  lebe  wid  Cupe  an*  Dinah." 

The  old  man  knelt  in  the  grass  and  raised  his  face  to 
the  star-lit  heavens. 

"  De  blos'm  am  an  angel  now  a-singin'  hal'ujahs  wid 
its  muddah,  but  wha'  am  de  Susie  chile  what  take  its 
place?  Cupe  am  sah'rin'  fo'  de  Susie  gearl  case  he 
swar'  t'  watch  obah  de  new  chile.  Dgawge,  yo'  kin 
smell  tings  what  Cupe  caint  smell,  but  yo'  caint  see  all 
de  tings  dat  de  nigger  kin  see.  Ef  yo'  could  an'  'ud  look 
to'ard  de  ole  well  yo'  'ud  see  a  man  stan' — a  man, 
Dgawge  —  de  ole  ma'se  dat  hab  walked  an'  walked  an* 
caint  git  no  res'.  He  play  keards  when  de  chile  wah 
bohn  an'  swar'  at  de  sweet  missus  once  too  many  times, 
an'  fo'  dat  debbilment  he  hab  t'  walk  de  briar  patch  now. 
Cussed  be  de  man  who  bring  trouble  t'  a  young  muddah. 
Dah  ain't  no  peace  on  earf,  dah  ain't  no  place  in  Heaben, 
de  debbil  hab  no  use  fo'  sech  a  sperrit.  Yo'  caint  see 
him,  Dgawge.  Ef  yo'  could  see  what  Cupe  see,  yo'  'ud 
stick  yoah  tail  'tween  yoah  legs  an'  run  home  t'  Dinah. 
Come  on,  Dgawge,  dah  ain't  no  moah  time  fo'  hant 
seein',  we  hab  work  ts  do  t'-night." 

George  and  his  master  started,  and  soon  the  cry  of 
the  old  hound  floated  in  the  air,  and  at  once  a  whistle 
loud  and  shrill  broke  from  the  lips  of  Cupe.  u  Come 
heah,  Dgawge  !  Come  back,  Dgawge  Wash'n  Yn  !  " 

Obedient  to  the  command,  the  dog  came  to  his  side. 

"  Yo'  mus'  n't  act  up  any  fool  tricks  t'-night,  I  tole 
yo' !  De  rabbet  am  all  right  when  we  hunt  rabbet,  but 
et  am  not  fo'  yo'  dis  yocasion.  No  moah  rabbet, 
Dgawge,"  and  the  old  man  boxed  the  ears  of  his  friend. 
«  Now  walk  b'hin'  till  I  tole  yo'  t'  hunt." 

The  negro  strode  forward,  the  dog,  with  hanging  head, 
following  at  his  heels  until  the  lights  of  Stringtown 

163 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

came  into  view.  Stopping  then,  the  old  man  crouched 
in  the  grass  and  again  spoke :  "  Dgawge,  dah  am  no 
coon,  no  'possum,  no  rabbet  t'-night.  De  time  am  come 
to'  wo'k,  an'  ef  yo'  doan  wo'k  t'-night,  de  end  ob  yoah 
life  am  heah."  Feeling  of  the  dog's  nose,  the  negro 
chuckled,  and  then  taking  the  little  shoes  out  of  his 
pocket,  he  held  them  before  the  eyes  of  the  dog  and 
touched  them  once  more  to  his  nose.  "  Hunt  fo'  Susie, 
Dgawge  !  hunt  fo'  Susie !  slow,"  as  the  dog  started  off, 
uslow,  Dgawge;  de  night  am  long." 

The  dog  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  and  Cupe,  turn 
ing  his  steps  so  as  to  inscribe  a  circle  about  the  String- 
town  lights,  wended  his  way  slowly  over  the  uneven  land. 
From  time  to  time  he  stopped  to  cheer  the  sagacious 
hound,  which  could  be  heard  pressing  through  the  bushes 
and  occasionally,  when  on  a  ridge,  could  be  seen  pictured 
against  the  sky.  Old  Cupe,  accustomed  to  nocturnal 
exploits  with  the  dumb  brute,  knew  exactly  what  he  was 
doing  as  he  circled  about,  and  needed  nothing  more  than 
the  occasional  sounds,  that  to  an  inexperienced  ear  would 
have  conveyed  no  meaning,  could  they  have  been  heard, 
to  tell  that  the  faithful  animal  was  scouring  every  foot 
of  territory  in  the  vicinity.  At  last  the  steps  of  the  ne 
gro  led  to  a  grapevine  thicket  in  a  ravine,  and  soon  from 
its  depths  a  loud  howl  came,  a  howl  that  to  other  persons 
than  Cupe  would  have  sounded  exactly  like  the  cry  that 
led  to  the  punishment  of  the  dog  at  the  time  his  ears 
were  boxed  for  trailing  a  rabbit. 

The  cry  had  hardly  subsided  before  Cupe  gave  a 
whistle,  and  soon  the  dog  came  to  his  side.  u  Dgawge, 
de  'possum  am  sweet  t'  de  taste  when  the  sweet'-tatah 
an*  de  frost  am  heah,  but  not  t'-night.  Yo'  hab  bettah 
wo'k  t'  do  dan  tree  de  'possum,  Dgawge,"  and  again  the 
patient  creature's  ears  were  boxed.  "  Now  min'  yoah 

164 


The  Haunted  Hollow 

nose,  Dgawge,"  and  Cupc  touched  it  again  with  the  little 
shoe.     "  Hunt  fo'  Susie,  Dgawge,  hunt  fo'  Susie  !  " 

The  ground  was  slowly  covered,  fields  of  corn, 
open  pasture,  waste  briar  patches  and  woodlands.  The 
Stringtown  pike  was  crossed  below  the  village,  and 
on  the  return  circuit  crossed  again  above  it,  near  the 
home  of  Mr.  Nordman,  the  old  Kentucky  gentleman ; 
the  Mt.  Carmel  pike  was  also  crossed  and  the  heavy 
beechwood  at  the  junction  was  passed,  and  yet  no 
evidence  of  the  movements  of  the  dog  and  master 
could  be  heard  other  than  the  sound  made  by  an  oc 
casional  broken  stick  or  a  rustle  of  the  bushes.  Then, 
at  last,  the  discouraged  negro  realised  that  he  had  com 
pleted  the  circuit  of  the  village,  for  he  stood  near  the 
spot  where  the  circle  began.  The  old  man  called  his 
dog,  and  when  he  approached  spoke  to  him  as  only  a 
deeply  earnest  negro  of  the  olden  time  could  speak  to 
a  dumb  brute.  "  De  sign  wah  bad,  fo'  et  wah  de  lef ' 
toe,  but  did  n't  Cupe  go  back  an'  staht  ag'in  ?  De  ebil 
ob  de  sign  wah  chahmed  away,  suah.  De  fault  am  not 
wid  de  nigger,  but  wid  de  dawg.  Yo'  am  not  workin', 
Dgawge,  yo'  hab  been  foolin'  yoah  time  away."  The 
harangue  ended  with  a  threat  and  the  information  that 
the  village  must  again  be  tramped  about,  and  that  the 
next  circle  must  be  larger.  Again  they  started  around 
the  village,  but  before  doing  so  receded  from  the  pre 
vious  circle,  so  that  this  circuit  would  be  much  greater 
than  the  other.  Patiently  they  passed  over  the  land  as 
they  had  done  before,  until  the  Stringtown  pike  below 
the  village  was  reached.  At  this  po'iU.  just  as  the 
negro  prepared  to  climb  the  rail  ferce  ht.  stopped  and 
then  sank  upon  the  ground.  "  Stan'  still,  Dgawge,"  he 
slowly  muttered ;  u  dah  am  dangah  in  de  ole  pike  5  Stan' 
still" 

165 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Peering  through  the  rails,  the  kneeling  negro  saw, 
first,  two  silent  horsemen  approach ;  following  which 
came  a  troop  of  about  a  hundred  men,  riding  two 
abreast.  When  opposite  the  negro  the  troop  halted,  and 
then  from  beneath  an  adjacent  tree  a  slight  figure  stepped 
to  the  side  of  the  leader  of  the  band,  spoke  a  few  words 
and  disappeared  toward  the  village.  The  troop  resumed 
its  way,  and  at  last,  about  as  far  behind  the  cavalrymen 
as  the  advance  guard  had  preceded  them,  came  the  rear 
guard  of  two  horsemen. 

The  tranr)  of  the  horses'  feet,  the  occasional  rattling 
of  a  sabre  against  a  wooden  stirrup,  the  smothered 
cough  of  an  afflicted  rider,  and  the  cavalcade  that  had 
been  pictured  against  the  starry  skies  disappeared  in  the 
gloom. 

11  Dah  am  sorrah  comV  t'  someone  t'-night ;  de 
cav'lry  doan  trabel  at  midnight  fo'  fun.  Befo'  dis  raid 
am  obah  some  rebel  boy  '11  be  to'n  from  de  muddah 
what  he  come  home  t'  see.  Ef  I  knowed  who  dem 
blue  coats  wah  ahftah !  Damn  dat  young  cuss,  dah  am 
mischief  in  de  air,  but  dah  am  uddah  wo'k  fo'  Cupe 
t'-night.  Dah  am  trouble  fo'  uddahs  as  well  es  de  rebel 
boy." 

He  moved  on;  the  two  pikes  were  crossed,  the 
shadows  of  the  beechwood  were  traversed  and  the 
second  circuit  of  the  village  nearly  completed  when  a 
cry  from  the  dog  broke  upon  the  air,  a  cry  that  brought 
old  Cupe  to  a  stop  so  sudden  that  the  foot  was  arrested 
in  the  air,  slowly  lowered,  and  then  the  negro  fell  upon 
his  knees.  No  whistle  broke  from  his  lips  this  time, 
no  scolding  of  George  Washington,  but  in  its  stead  the 
murmured  words  :  "  De  Lawd  be  praised  !  stan*  still, 
Dgawge  WashVt'n.  De  track  ob  de  chile  am  foun'. 
StrnJy,  Dgawge,  stan'  steady,  Dgawge  WashVt'n." 

1 66 


The  Haunted  Hollow 

Rising,  he  advanced  to  the  spot  from  which  the  cry 
had  corne,  and  kneeling  again  beside  the  dog  the  thank 
ful  negro  burst  into  tears  and  threw  his  arms  about  the 
dumb  brute's  neck.  As  he  knelt  thus  the  full  moon 
slowly  arose,  for  the  night  had  half  wasted  away,  and 
yet  not  until  it  threw  a  broad  glare  did  patient  Cupe 
give  the  command  to  move  onward.  Then  he  said : 
"  Slow,  Dgawge.  Go  t'  Susie,  Dgawge.  Steady,  ole 
man,"  and  the  dog  leaped  into  the  darkness. 

The  slow,  creeping  motion  that  had  characterised  the 
movements  of  Cupe  during  the  night  now  changed  to  a 
trot;  the  steps  were  long,  and  he  rapidly  covered  the 
ground.  A  howl  came  regularly  from  the  throat  of  his 
unseen  leader,  a  howl  that  to  Cupe's  practised  ear  was 
sufficient  to  keep  him  fast  in  the  trail.  He  used  his 
eyes  to  avoid  obstructions,  but  relied  solely  on  his  ear 
to  keep  track  of  the  dog.  The  moon  rose  high  into  the 
heavens ;  woodland,  meadow,  and  thicket  were  trodden 
with  no  change  in  the  cry  of  the  dog,  no  sound  from 
the  lips  of  his  master.  The  child  had  wandered  in  zig 
zag  lines,  had  struggled  through  briars  and  bushes,  over 
hills  and  through  valleys  —  if,  indeed,  the  dog  were 
trailing  the  child.  At  last  even  Cupe  grew  doubtful, 
and  whistled,  which  signal  was  understood  as  a  com 
mand  to  stop.  On  reaching  the  brute,  who  in  obedi 
ence  rested  in  his  tracks,  the  negro  spoke  as  follows : 

"  Am  yo'  lyin',  Dgawge,  am  yo'  lyin'  or  tellin'  de 
truff?  Ef  de  chile  hab  been  wha'  yo'  hab  trabeled,  de 
yinnecent  hab  walked  her  legs  off.  Am  yo'  lyin', 
Dgawge  ?  "  Stopping  in  the  middle  of  the  sentence,  the 
speaker  reached  out  his  hand  and  picked  from  a  briar  a 
small  piece  of  cloth,  which  he  held  before  his  eyes. 
The  light  of  the  moon  fell  full  upon  the  fragment,  and 
then  Cupe  completed  the  broken  sentence  —  "  An*  heah 

167 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

am  de  ansah  —  yo'  am  tellin'  de  truff.  Go  t'  Susie, 
Dgawgc,  go  t*  Susie." 

Back  and  forth,  in  and  out,  the  man  followed  the  cry 
of  his  dog  that  night,  ever  intent  on  the  object  of  his 
search,  hoping  each  moment  to  hear  the  bay  announcing 
that  the  child  had  been  found  at  last.  But  there  came 
no  change  of  note ;  the  monotonous  howl  that  first 
struck  the  ear  was  maintained,  until  at  last  a  great  loop 
had  been  made,  and  the  step  of  the  master,  following  the 
cry  of  the  dog,  turned  toward  a  spot  well  known  to  the 
superstitious  negro.  Nearer  and  yet  nearer  they  drevr 
to  the  point  that  disturbed  the  mind  of  the  slave,  until  at 
last  he  could  no  longer  control  his  fear,  but  whistled  to 
his  companion,  and  together  they  came  to  a  stand  on  the 
top  of  a  grassy  ridge. 

u  Yo'  bettah  go  slow,  Dgawge.  Dah  am  dangah  in 
de  air  ef  yo'  go  into  de  hainted  hollah  widout  de  cha'm. 
God  bress  de  rabbet  what  cross  de  pafF  an'  send  us  back 
fo'  de  cha'm.  Hole  still,  Dgawge;"  and  taking  from 
his  pocket  a  rabbit-foot  attached  to  a  string,  the  negro 
hung  it  around  the  neck  of  his  dumb  friend.  He  drew 
another  rabbit-foot  charm  from  the  same  pocket  and 
threw  it  around  his  own  neck.  "  Go  slow,  Dgawge, 
de  debbil  am  in  Bloody  Hollah.  God  help  de  chile  ef 
de  debbil  fin*  her  dah."  The  rabbit-foot  charm  even 
seemed  not  altogether  to  remove  the  distrust  of  the  old 
man,  who  glanced  uneasily  about  as  he  moved  slowly 
into  the  valley.  He  mumbled  to  himself,  possibly  re 
citing  a  word  charm,  but  still  he  kept  bravely  after  the 
yelping  hound. 

At  this  point,  when  the  dog  had  reached  the  base  of 
the  hill,  he  gave  a  yelp  so  different  from  the  monotonous 
cry  that  had  preceded  it  that  even  an  inexperienced  per 
son  would  have  noticed  the  change  of  tone.  It  was  a 

1 68 


The  Haunted  Hollow 

single,  sharp  yelp,  followed  by  a  loud,  long  cry  that  made 
the  valley  echo.  The  negro  rushed  forward,  careless 
alike  of  ghost  or  goblin ;  and  there,  reclining  on  the 
grass,  her  head  pillowed  on  a  hillock  that  the  slave  knew 
only  too  well,  was  the  object  of  the  search. 

The  dog  stretched  himself  upon  the  earth,  licking  the 
hand  of  his  young  mistress,  and  the  moonlight  threw  its 
mellow  rays  over  the  hollow. 

The  frightened  negro  wasted  no  time ;  he  raised  the 
girl  in  his  arms  and  rapidly  left  the  valley  of  evil  omens. 
His  faithful  dog,  his  night  work  at  an  end,  weary  and 
exhausted,  with  hanging  head,  followed  at  his  heels. 
The  grey  of  morning  mingled  with  the  moonlight  as 
Cupe  opened  the  door  of  his  cabin,  where  old  Dinah  sat 
waiting  for  her  husband.  She  gave  a  cry  of  joy  as  she 
recognised  her  young  mistress  ;  but  Cupe,  with  the 
proverbial  grurFness  of  such  as  he,  said  : 

u  Shet  yoah  mouf,  yo*  fool  nigger,  an*  doan  yo*  wake 
de  honey  chile.  Give  Dgawge  Wash'nYn  his  suppah, 
fo'  he  hab  done  his  wo'k." 


169 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

DESPONDENT    STRINGTOWN 

OBLIVIOUS  to  the  occurrences  related  in  the  pre 
ceding  chapter,  Stringtown  slept.  Extraordin 
ary  events  were  required  in  1864,  to  waken  her  people. 
The  tramp  of  cavalry  had  become  a  familiar  sound.  A 
nocturnal  raid  had  ceased  to  be  novel.  Long  trains  of 
army  wagons,  the  curses  of  mule-drivers,  the  crack  of 
black-snake  whips,  the  sound  of  blows  belabouring  the 
backs  of  the  patient  brutes,  were  constant  day  and  night 
along  the  dusty  pike.  The  beating  of  drums,  and  the 
music  of  bands,  the  singing  of  enthusiastic  men  in  bright 
new  uniforms,  the  mirth  that  always  accompanied  the 
recruit  marching  South  to  u  glory,"  sounded  in  the  ears 
of  our  people  so  often  as  to  excite  no  further  comment. 
The  tramp  of  veterans  when  transfer  of  commands 
brought  old  soldiers  back  from  the  war,  men  with  whom 
the  lack  of  bluster  and  of  mirthful  singing  was  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  behaviour  of  the  new-made  soldier,  did 
not  disturb  us.  One  looked  forward  to  waving  flags, 
valiant  cavalry  charges,  and  pictured  battle  scenes  in 
which,  amid  cheers  of  comrades,  the  waving  banner  was 
proudly  carried  on  to  the  ramparts  of  the  enemy  :  the 
other  had  known  war  in  its  reality  ;  war  which  meant 
burned  dwellings,  weeping  mothers,  children  huddled 
into  groups,  lands  devastated,  homes  destroyed,  distress 
and  famine,  pain  and  suffering  to  the  innocent;  and 
these  experienced  no  ecstacy  in  thinking  of  battle  charges 
where  blood  flowed  from  friend  and  foe,  no  pleasure  in 

170 


Despondent  Stringtown 

reminiscences  even  of  success  where  fire,  smoke  and 
death  once  prevailed.  The  places  vacated  by  lost  mess 
mates,  and  the  shrinking  forms  of  suffering  children  and 
bereaved  mothers,  taught  a  sorrowful  lesson  to  him  who 
had  taken  part  in  war. 

We  of  Stringtown  slept  during  the  passing  of  the 
squad  of  cavalry  which  Cupe  saw  tramping  up  the 
pike,  and  we  also  slept  while  the  same  raiding  troop 
returned  from  a  saddened  household  with  a  single  pris 
oner,  the  rebel  son  of  Mr.  Nordman.  And  if  String- 
town's  people  knew  nothing  of  this  tramping  of  a 
hundred  horses,  how  could  they  have  been  aware  of 
the  stealthy  footsteps  of  the  old  slave  who  that  night 
had  twice  encircled  their  outskirts?  Why  should  they 
awaken,  when  from  a  distance  the  old  hound  raised 
his  voice  beside  the  negro  who  searched  for  the  lost 
footsteps  of  the  wandering  child  ? 

But  when  morning  came,  with  unabated  energy  the 
search  was  resumed.  Aid  was  solicited  from  the 
country  about,  dogs  were  employed,  but  either  the 
trail  had  cooled  or  the  strange  dogs  were  not  gifted 
as  was  George  Washington,  for  they  found  no  trace 
of  the  wanderer's  track.  A  party  of  seekers  strag 
gled  to  the  cabin  of  Cupe,  who  sat  as  usual  beside 
the  cabin  door,  his  old  dog  asleep  at  his  side. 

uYo*  doan  p'tend  t'  say  dat  yo'  hain't  foun'  de  chile 
yit  ?  " 

cc  No  signs  of  her.  Lend  us  George ;  perhaps  he 
can  strike  the  trail." 

"  Yo'  am  welcome  t*  de  dawg,  but  he  am  no  'count. 
He  am  like  his  ma'se.  He  doan  trail  de  'possum  an'  de 
coon  now,  he  hain't  got  sense  nuff  in  his  ole  head  fo* 
huntin*.  Go,wid  de  gem'n,  Dgawge  ;  git  up,  yo'  lazy 
houn',  an*  go  wid  de  gem'n !  " 

171 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

The  visitors  whistled  to  the  dog,  which  listlessly  and 
with  drooping  head  followed  them  from  the  door. 

"  Ya,  ya,"  said  Cupe,  when  the  men  had  disappeared, 
ayo'  am  buhn'n  yoah  candle  at  de  wrong  end  when  yo' 
walk  'way  from  dis  cabin.  Yo'  might  es  well  look  fo' 
an  eah  ob  cohn  wid  thirteen  rows  es  t*  look  fo'  de 
gearl  wha'  yo'  am  gwine." 

In  a  short  time  old  George  slunk  back  and  resumed 
his  former  location.  Cupe  still  rested  beside  the  door ; 
Dinah  sat  in  the  back  doorway ;  no  other  person  was  to 
be  seen. 

Stringtown's  search  continued  until,  after  several  days 
had  passed,  hope  departed  from  every  breast.  The  child 
was  given  up  as  lost.  Rumours  arose  that  could  not  be 
traced  to  any  authentic  source,  and  yet  were  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  to  the  effect  that  Susie  had  straggled  to 
the  pike  and  was  found  by  a  band  of  Northern  soldiers 
marching  south,  who  carried  the  homeless  waif  away. 
This  rumour  grew  into  accepted  fact  when  a  soldier 
on  furlough,  returning  from  the  front,  stopped  at  one 
of  the  Stringtown  taverns  and  told  of  a  child  who,  pet 
ted  by  her  new-found  friends,  was  now  in  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland. 


172 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

"  RED-HEAD  " 

yoah  las'  look  at  de  ole  plantation,  Dinah, 
res'  yoah  eyes  fo'  de  las'  time  on  de  Ian'  wha' 
yo'  wha'  bohn.  De  fragrance  ob  de  cohn  when  et  am 
in  silk,  de  bread  what  yo'  make  wid  de  frosted  'simmon 
an'  de  cracklin',  de  sweet-'tatah  an'  'possum  am  no 
moah  fo'  yo'.  De  Ian'  ob  yo'  fahdah  am  no  moah  yoah 
home  ;  trial  an'  sorrah  am  t'  come  fo'  de  two  ole  niggers 
in  de  cole  Canerdy  country." 

Dinah,  sitting  in  the  doorway,  made  no  reply,  and  for 
a  long  time  Cupe  sat  mute,  lost  in  meditation. 

u  De  ansah  say  dat  de  grabe  hab  cubbahed  de  body  ob 
de  missus  an'  de  body  ob  de  ma'se,  an'  dat  de  blos'm 
chile  am  dead  an'  buried  an'  dat  Cupe  hab  done  de  long- 
made  promise  out.  Et  say  dat  when  de  dead  am  satis 
fied  de  backwa'd  work  ob  man  am  done." 

Dinah  looked  into  the  face  of  her  husband  and  asked : 
"  Am  yo'  suah  de  dead  am  satisfied?  " 

"  Suah.  Dinah,  I  is  suah.  De  switch  ob  de  weepin' 
willah  tree  droop  down  an'  hang  long  obah  de  spot 
wha'  Cupe  stick  de  twig  obah  sweet  missus'  grabe ;  de 
cedah  bough  cubbahs  de  grabe  ob  de  chile  she  call  her 
blos'm.  Dah  am  no  yallah  clay  t'  be  seen,  but  dah  am 
trouble  yit.  Dah  am  trouble  com'n'. 

"  When  Cupe  go  las'  night  t'  wha'  de  ole  house  wah, 
he  feel  de  touch  ob  de  sperrit  ob  de  dead.  He  look  at 
de  spot  wha'  de  bed  ob  de  missus  stan'  de  night  de 
blos'm  wah  bohn,  an'  he  speak  t'  de  missus  like  es  ef  she 

173 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

wah  by  his  side,  an*  den  he  lis'n  fo'  de  ansah.  Dah 
wa'n't  no  sound  ob  voice,  but  de  ansah  come  out  ob  dc 
air  an'  out  ob  de  moonlight." 

"  What  yo'  see  t'  pint  t'  new  trouble  ?  " 

"  When  I  sahch  in  de  bed  ob  de  sage,  dah  wah  many 
young  sage  plants  growin' ;  dey  am  moah  dan  a  ninch 
high.  Et  wah  not  a  week  sense  Cupe  scratch  dat  bed 
obah,  an'  now  de  seed  am  up.  Dah  am  trouble  fo'  de 
man  what  plant  de  seed  ob  sage  an'  trouble  fo'  him  who 
let  de  sage  seed  sprout."  l 

"De  sage  am  a  suah  sign.  But  am  de  sperrit  ob  ole 
ma'se  satisfied  ?  " 

Low  and  husky  was  the  reply.  "  He  am  walkin'  yit, 
but  dat  doan  consahn  us  niggers.  He  swar'  at  de  un- 
bohn  babe,  he  cuss  de  new-made  muddah,  an'  he  mus' 
walk  fo'  his  own  sins." 

"An'  Susie  ?" 

"  Et  am  fo'  de  good  ob  dat  chile  dat  de  change  mus* 
come  t'  yo'  an'  me.  Kin  we  keep  her  cubbahed  fer- 
ebah  ?  She  am  sittin'  in  de  cabin  in  de  mahn'n  an'  in 
de  cabin  in  de  ebenin'.  She  am  in  de  cabin  all  day 
long.  She  go  out  wid  Cupe  in  de  night  fo'  a  breff  ob 
air,  but  de  eyes  am  heaby  an'  de  mist  hang  low.  She 
mus'  hab  sunshine,  an'  dah  ain't  no  chance  heah." 

"  An'  yo  '11  lebe  de  home  wha'  yo'  wah  bohn,  de  Ian' 
wha*  yo'  always  lib,  de  grabe  ob  de  ole  fo'ks  an*  de 
chillun  fo'  de  sake  ob  de  strange  chile  ? " 

"  Doan  I  tole  yo'  so  ?  " 

41  But  yo'  am  not  yoah  own  ma'se,  an'  I  am  not 
yoah  nigger.  To'  caint  lebe  an'  I  caint  go." 

"  De  papahs  ob  freedom  wah  drawn  up  by  de  missus 
befo'  she  go  t'  glory,  de  papahs  am  ready  fo'  de  Co'ht." 

1  To  plant  sage  seed  is  a  sign  of  death  or  severe  sickness  to  one 
of  the  family. 

174 


"Red-Head" 

*Fo'bofob  us?" 

«  Fo'  Cupe." 

u  An'  yo'  'ud  hab  Dinah  run  'way  like  de  fiel*  niggei 
do  ? " 

"  Dah  ain't  no  use  in  yargyin'  wid  a  woman,"  indig 
nantly  replied  Cupe.  u  Shet  yoah  brack  mouf,  Dinah, 
git  yoah  duds  ready  fo'  de  long  journey." 

At  this  point  a  slight  change  in  the  intensity  of  the 
light  in  the  room  caught  the  eye  of  the  alert  old  man. 
"  Tsh!  "  he  whispered,  "  dah  am  a  shaddah  on  de  flo' ; 
tu'n  yoah  eyeball  back,  Dinah,  an'  tole  me  what  yoj  see 
befo'  de  back  windah." 

Cautiously  the  old  woman  raised  her  head  so  that  a 
side  glance  could  be  taken  of  the  window  back  of  Cupe. 

"  Et  am  a  boy." 

"  An'  de  head  ob  de  boy  am  red,  Dinah  ?  " 

"Suah." 

«Wha'  am  Susie?" 

"  Playin'  wid  de  gourd  doll." 

"An'  de  boy  kin  see  de  chile?" 

"He  am  lookin'  at  de  chile." 

"  De  deed  mus'  be  done ;  de  Red-Head  Boy  hab  see«i/ 
de  gearl,  de  spell  am  wo'kin'.  Dgawge" — and  Cupe 
addressed  his  sleeping  dog  — "  Dgawge,  tsb/  tree  'ena, 
Dgawge  !  tree  'em  quick  !  " 

Bounding  through  the  open  door,  the  dog  made  a 
circuit  around  the  house,  and  at  once  a  cry  of  distress 
came  from  the  window  where  the  head  of  the  boy  had 
appeared.  Shuffling  through  the  door  and  around  the 
cabin,  Cupe  found  the  dog  standing  over  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  "  Red-Head  "  Boy. 

"  An'  yo'  hab  come  at  las',  yo'  ebil-spell  chile ! " 
Cupe  gave  this  welcome  and  glared  down  into  the  face 
»f  the  defiant  boy,  who  scowled  back  at  the  old  slave. 

I7S 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  An*  so  de  debbil  hab  sent  yo'  es  de  spell  p'dicted,  yo' 
red-head  cuss.  De  spell  what  say  dat  Cupe  an'  Dinah 
an*  de  chile  mus'  lebe  dere  home,  an'  dat  when  de  doah 
am  closed  at  las'  yo'  will  sit  alone  in  de  cabin." 

Taking  the  prostrate  boy  by  the  ear,  Cupe  raised  him 
to  his  feet,  and  face  to  face  the  two  scowled  a  moment 
in  silence.  Then,  still  holding  the  ear  firmly,  the  negro 
led  the  boy  to  the  door  of  the  cabin.  u  Brung  my  hat, 
Dinah,  an'  brung  de  bottle  what  stan'  on  de  shelf." 

u  De  bottle  am  empty." 

"  Did  I  ax  yo'  fo*  a  full  bottle,  yo'  fool  nigger  ? 
What  fo'  yo'  talk  back?  Brung  me  de  bottle  on  de 
shelf  like  I  says." 

This  order  brought  the  desired  bottle,  a  pint  flask. 
Putting  it  into  his  pocket,  old  Cupe  spoke  to  the  boy: 

"  Ef  yo'  fool  wid  Cupe,  yo'  am  foolin'  wid  yoah  life, 
yo'  East  Kaintuck  scrub  stock.  What  fo'  yo'  stop  in 
God's  country  ?  Why  doan  yo'  go  on  t'  Posey  County, 
Engiany,  wha'  de  likes  ob  yo'  belong  ?  " 

The  boy  made  no  reply. 

"I  wah  stan'n'  by  de  Stringtown  pike  when  de  wagon 
what  held  yoah  debbilish  carcass  come  down  from  de 
Kaintuck  mount'ns,  an'  jes  den  de  ho'ses  stop  fo'  res'. 
Dah  wah  two  scrawny  ho'ses,  foah  dawgs,  a  coop  ob 
chickens,  a  man  an'  woman,  a  lot  ob  dirty  chillun,  an' 
yoah  red  head." 

No  reply  from  the  boy. 

"An'  when  de  quistion  wah  axed,  *  Wha'  yo'  come 
from? '  de  ansah  ob  de  man  what  dribe  wah,  '  East  Kain 
tuck  mount'ns.'  An'  when  de  quistion  wah  axed, 
1  Wha'  yo'  gwine  t'  ?  '  de  ansah  wah,  c  Posey  County, 
Engiany/  ' 

Still  there  was  no  answer. 

a  Why  yo'   stop    in    Kaintuck,  yo'   red-head    cuss  ? 

176 


"Red-Head" 

Why  yo'  not  go  on  t'  Posey  County,  Engiany,  wid  de 
tribe  what  bring  yo'  ?  " 

"Old  Nordman  is  my  uncle;  I  came  to  live  with 
him,'*  said  the  boy  surlily. 

"  An'  yo'  brung  shame  on  yoah  uncle  fo'  habin'  sech 
kin.  Yo'  come  from  East  Kaintuck  t'  lib  wid  yoah 
Uncle  Nordman,  but  de  man  who  dribe  dat  wagon  doan 
go  on  ;  he  stop  in  de  city  an'  jine  in  de  blue  coat  army. 
De  moonlight  am  not  bright,  but  Cupe  am  a  nigger  —he 
kin  see  in  de  night.  Dat  feller  wah  de  man  who 
cap'ned  de  cavalry  on  de  Stringtown  pike  de  uddah  night, 
when  yo'  slip  from  undah  de  tree  an'  whispah  in  his  eah. 
He  wah  de  man." 

"I'll  get  even  with  yo',  yo'  black  nigger,  fer  I've  seen 
the  girl,  an'  I'll  tell  where  she  es." 

"  Yo'  will  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an'  I'll  get  the  fifty  dollars  too.  Mr.  Wagner 
hes  offered  fifty  dollars  fo'  news  of  her." 

"  Pint  yoah  nose  fo'  home  an'  walk  slow,  yo'  debbilish 
imp ;  ef  yo'  run,  de  teef  ob  de  dawg  '11  make  yo'  wish 
yo'  had  gone  on  wid  de  East  Kaintuck  litter  an'  crost  de 
ribbah,  wha'  de  likes  ob  yo'  b'long." 

The  boy  did  not  move  nor  say  a  word. 

"  Tu'n  yoah  face  to'ard  de  pike  like  I  tole  yo' ! 
Move,  yo'  sorrel  top,  er  I  '11  pull  dis  eah  out  by  de  root." 

The  boy  sullenly  obeyed,  but  it  was  evident  that  Cupe 
intended  to  accompany  him.  With  the  old  dog  in  front 
and  the  negro  close  behind,  they  started  for  the  village. 
Before  reaching  it,  however,  at  the  command  of  Cupe, 
the  course  was  changed,  and  passing  through  the  fields 
along  the  village  outskirts  the  group  reached  the  pike 
near  the  house  of  Mr.  Nordman,  who,  as  usual  on  sum 
mer  afternoons,  was  sitting  on  the  front  porch  of  his 
home. 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

On  entering  the  yard  Cupe  took  off  his  hat,  and 
bowed  low  to  the  owner  of  the  house.  After  the  usual 
salutations  had  been  exchanged,  he  said :  "  Dah  am 
sadness  obah  yoah  face,  Ma'se  Nordman,  an*  I  'spec* 
dah  am  sorrah  obah  de  heaht  ob  de  missus  t'-day." 

"  Yes,  Cupe,  we  are  in  trouble." 

u  An'  well  yo'  may  sorrah,  fo'  dah  am  trouble  in  de 
house  an'  dah  am  trouble  out  ob  de  house.  Yo'  will 
'scuse  de  nigger  fo'  sayin'  et?" 

"Say  on." 

"  Yo'  am  sah'rin'  fo'  de  chile,  de  rebel  boy,  what 
come  t'  see  his  muddah  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  come  de  Yankee  sojers  t*  fin*  out  he  wah 
home  ?  " 

"  God  only  knows,  Uncle  Cupe.  I  did  not  think 
that  I  had  an  enemy  in  the  world  capable  of  stooping  to 
such  an  act." 

At  this  juncture  the  Red-Head  Boy  attempted  to  walk. 
away.  Cupe  eyed  him  as  he  turned  toward  the  corner 
of  the  house  and  mildly  observed  : 

"  Chile,  yo'  need  n't  go  ;  bettah  yo'  stay  an'  heah  de 
conbersashun  out,  case  Cupe  hab  sump'n'  t'  show  yo' 
in  de  pike  when  he  go  back."  The  boy  took  the  seem 
ingly  artless  words  as  a  command  ;  he  returned  reluctantly 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

"  De  Stringtown  fo'ks  doan  know  de  rebel  boy  wah 
home  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  many  of  them  called  to  see  him,  but  no  man 
in  Stringtown  would  inform  on  him." 

"  His  bruddah,  Ma'se  Jim,  de  Yankee  cap'n,  had  be'n 
home  too." 

u  Yes  ;  they  met  by  appointment." 

u  Yo'  hain't  no  cause  t'  spishun  none  ob  de  niggers  ? " 

178 


«  Red-Head" 

u  No,  Cupid ;  not  one  but  would  have  made  any 
sacrifice  for  that  boy.  His  old  auntie  is  crying  now  in 
the  cabin." 

"  Yo'  hain't  no  cause  t'  spishun  no  one  on  de  place 
an*  no  cause  t'  spishun  no  one  in  de  town  ?  Mon 
strous  strange  !  I  'spec'  de  Yankees  jes  happen  t*  come 
in  de  night  an'  dey  jes  happen  t'  stop  befo'  yoah  house. 
Pow'ful  cu'yus.  Dey  station  dere  men  at  de  back  an* 
at  de  front  ob  de  house  —  jes  happen  t'  do  it;  dey  make 
a  ring  ob  muskets  in  de  moonlight  all  Jroun'  de  mansion. 
Den  dat  loud  knock  come  on  de  doah,  de  sleepin*  chile 
wah  pulled  out  ob  bed,  de  han'cuffs  slip  obah  his  wrists, 
an'  he  wah  put  on  de  back  ob  one  ho'se  what  jes  happen 
t'  hab  an  empty  saddle." 

"  Yes,  so  it  seems,"  answered  Nordman  meditatively, 

"  De  sojers  come  wid  only  one  empty  saddle  ?  " 

No  response. 

"  Dey  go  no  fa'dah  up  de  pike,  but  tu'n  back  ag'm  ?  " 

No  reply. 

"  De  niggers  wah  cryin',  de  muddah  wah  cryin',  de 
ole  man  wah  sw'arin'  in  hims  heaht  an*  keepin*  up  a 
monstrous  t'inkin',  he  am  t'inkin'  an'  sw'arin'  yit.  But 
yoah  t'inkin'  doan  do  no  good,  de  feller  what  tole  on  de 
boy  am  not  foun'." 

"No." 

u  Do  yo'  know  who  cap'ned  de  blue  coats  ?  *' 

u  He  did  not  come  into  the  house.  Howerer,  he 
only  did  his  duty  unless  —  "  the  old  man  paused. 

Suddenly  changing  the  subject,  the  negro  said :  a  Yo' 
mus'  'scuse  de  pertness  ob  de  questions,  but  yo*  know 
dat  Cupe  hab  b'en  in  trouble  too ; "  he  held  up  his 
branded  hand  and  displayed  ihe  livid  mark  in  its  palm, 
u  an*  dis  am  de  fust  chance  he  hab  had  t'  git  de  inward 
ness  ob  dis  painful  yocasion.  Cupe  did  n't  come  t'  see 

179 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

yo'  t*  be  'quisitive,  he  come  t*  ax  ef  yo'  'ud  do  him  de 

kindness  yo'  hab  done  so  often  ? " 

A  smile  came  over  the  face  of  the  old  Kentucky 
gentleman,  and  he  thumped  with  his  cane  on  the  floor  of 
the  porch.  A  negro  lad,  dressed  in  a  single  garment 
that  was  sleeveless,  beltless,  legless,  (a  Lindsey  shift),  in 
obedience  to  the  call  soon  stood  before  him. 

"  Pig,  take  Cupe's  bottle." 

Cupe  took  the  empty  flask  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  the  lad. 

u  Fill  it  out  of  the  second  barrel  in  the  far  cellar." 

Cupe  made  his  best  courtesy  and  the  boy  disappeared, 
to  return  shortly,  holding  the  bottle  filled  with  the  amber 
liquid. 

u  T'ank  yo',  Ma'se  Nordman,  yo'  liben  de  sperrit 
an'  gladden  de  heaht  ob  de  nigger.  Ef  yo'  wan'  Cupe 
t*  sahve  yo',  a  word  am  all  yo'  need  say."  He  turned 
to  go,  then  suddenly  resumed  the  thread  of  his  former 
conversation. 

uEf  yo'  fin'  dat  de  feller  what  cap'ned  de  sojers  knovr 
de  chile  wah  home  an'  set  de  trap  t'  cotch  him  ?  " 

11  If  I  could  find  the  scoundrel  I  'd  shoot  him  on 
sight." 

u  An'  ef  yo'  fin'  de  feller  what  tole  de  sojers  on  de 
honey?" 

u  I  '11  shoot  him  like  a  dog." 

The  old  darkey  chuckled,  courtesied  low  and  turned 
again  to  depart.  Then,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought, 
he  said  :  u  May  de  chile  sittin'  at  yoah  feet,  de  boy,  yo' 
am  so  kind  t'  come  t'  de  pike  wid  Cupe  ?  Dah  am  a 
cu'yus  track  in  de  dust  dat  might  yinterest  de  boy." 

"  Go,"  said  Mr.  Nordman. 

Passing  together  to  the  edge  of  the  pike,  as  if  they 
were  the  best  of  friends,  Cupe  leaned  over  and  pointed 

1 80 


"Red-Head" 

toward  the  smooth  furrows  in  the  dust;  but  this  was 
merely  a  blind,  for  no  track  was  to  be  seen. 

"  An'  yo'  come  from  East  Kaintuck  wid  yoah  moun- 
t'n  manners,"  he  whispered.  "  Yo'  eat  yoah  own  kin- 
fo'ks  dah,  yo'  'possum,  an*  yo'  b'gin  yoah  debbilment 
heah  by  bitin'  de  han'  ob  de  man  what  feed  yo',  an'  who 
hain't  no  spishun  ob  de  sin  in  yoah  heaht.  De  wicked 
deed  am  done  an'  caint  be  undone,  er  Cupe  'ud  squeeze 
yoah  neck  like  es  de  pahson  did  de  colonel."  Pointing 
into  the  dust,  the  negro  continued  :  u  Yo'  saw  Susie  in 
de  cabin  ? " 

The  boy  did  not  reply. 

"  Ansah  de  quistion  ;  yo'  saw  Susie  in  de  cabin  ?  *' 

"Yes." 

"  Ef  yo'  say  one  word  t'  man  er  chile  'bout  dc  gearl, 
Cupe  '11  tole  Ma'se  Nordman  'bout  what  be  saw  when 
yo'  meet  de  sojers  on  de  Stringtown  pike  de  night  de 
raid  wah  made.  Ef  yo'  whispah  de  fac'  to  any  man 
Cupe  '11  choke  yoah  life  out  fust,  an'  tell  Ma'se  Nord 
man  'bout  who  cap'ned  de  raiders  second.  So  suah  es 
God  made  Adam,  yo'  debbil  from  East  Kaintuck,  ef 
ha'm  come  t'  de  Susie  chile,  yoah  red  head  '11  stop  hatchin' 
debbilment  in  de  Ian'  wha'  yo'  hab  no  bis'ness  t'  be. 
Min'  yoah  mouf  now,  keep  yoah  han'  off  dat  fifty  dol- 
lahs  and  sabe  yoah  neck." 

Straightening  up,  Cupe  courtesied  once  more  to  the 
gentleman  on  the  distant  porch,  and,  together  with  his 
dog,  passed  from  sight. 


181 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SPIRITS 

RETURNING  to  the  cabin,  the  negro  resumed  his 
usual  position  in  the  chair  beside  the  door,  first, 
however,  handing  Dinah  the  bottle,  which,  in  conse 
quence  of  having  been  sampled  on  his  return  trip, 
was  not  now  entirely  filled.  But  before  it  reached  her 
hand  the  wary  old  man  put  his  finger  on  the  vial,  close 
to  the  upper  surface  of  the  liquid,  and  remarked  :  ct  De 
lickah  am  heah,  yo'  kin  see  de  top  mark ;  doan  yo'  let 
none  ob  et  sweat  fru  de  glass  while  Cupe  am  gone." 

Long  he  sat  in  meditation,  chewing  wisps  of  tobacco 
which  from  time  to  time  he  stripped  from  the  ever- 
present  hand  of  the  leaf  above  his  head.  Finally  he 
arose,  took  a  spade,  and  strode  into  the  garden,  back  to 
the  graveyard.  Digging  next  to  the  foot-stone  that 
marked  the  resting-place  of  his  mistress  of  other  years 
he  unearthed  a  large  closed  stone  jar.  Removing  the 
cover,  he  took  out  an  oblong  tin  box,  again  covered  the 
jar,  returned  the  soil  and  carefully  sodded  the  disturbed 
earth's  surface.  Taking  the  box  in  his  arms,  he  carried 
it  to  the  stable,  and  there  thrust  it  into  an  empty  meal 
sack,  which  he  then  threw  over  his  shoulder.  Return 
ing  to  the  house,  he  spoke  to  Dinah  :  tc  Yo'  know  de 
papah  what  de  muddah  ob  Susie  wrote  an'  Jebe  in  yoah 
charge  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  She  sap  t'  yo'  dat  ef  de  painfulness  ob  her  life  ehali 


Spirits 


had  t*  be  known,  dat  de  papahs  wah  t'  be  uaed  fo*  dc 
sake  ob  de  chile." 

"  Dat  am  what  she  say." 

u  Brung  me  de  papahs,  Dinah ;  dat  time  am  come." 

Dinah  hesitated. 

"  Doan  yo'  heah  ?  Am  yo'  gittin'  deaf  er  losin*  yoah 
senses  ?  Yo'  bettah  be  keerful,  yoj  hain't  got  much 
sense  t'  lose." 

Dinah  dived  her  hand  into  the  corner  of  the  cupboard 
and  produced  a  package  neatly  wrapped  in  newspaper, 
which  she  handed  to  Cupe,  who  placed  it  in  the  sack, 
which  he  threw  across  his  shoulder  and  started  for 
Stringtown.  The  old  dog  with  nose  against  the  ground 
trotting  lazily  at  his  heels.  Dinah  in  the  doorway 
watched  the  retreating  figure.  Mumbling  to  herself, 
and  accompanying  her  voice  with  an  occasional  shake  of 
the  head,  she  stood  long  after  the  form  disappeared ; 
then  returning  into  the  cabin,  she  glanced  at  the  little 
bed  where  Susie,  tired  of  play,  had  carelessly  thrown 
herself  and  fallen  asleep.  She  hesitated  a  moment  and 
then  went  straight  to  the  mantel-piece,  taking  therefrom 
the  bottle  Cupe  had  brought  from  Mr.  Nordman's. 
Carefully  tying  a  thread  around  the  bottle  exactly  on 
the  top  line  of  the  liquid,  she  uncorked  the  vial,  raised  it 
to  her  lips  and  drank  a  deep  draught,  half  emptying  it ; 
then,  smacking  her  lips,  she  stepped  to  the  water  bucket, 
and  poured  water  into  the  bottle  until  the  liquid's  sur 
face  struck  the  thread  again,  which  latter  she  then  re 
moved.  Finally  she  replaced  the  bottle  on  the  shelf. 

u  Yo'  am  a  sly  old  fox,  Cupe  Hardman,  yo'  am  a  sly 
ole  coon,  but  Dinah  — ."  Whatever  she  might  have 
intended  saying  as  a  continuation  of  her  soliloquy  was 
lost,  for,  glancing  at  the  little  bed,  she  again  caught 
sight  of  the  sleeping  face  of  Susie. 

183 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Dropping  on  her  knees,  the  old  negress  clapped  hei 
lips  upon  the  delicate  hand  that  lay  upon  the  white 
coverlet,  murmuring  : 

"  De  win*  blow  cole  an'  de  snow  am  deep  in  de 
Canerdy  country  ;  de  nigger  lub  de  Kaintuck  sunshine, 
de  sweet-'tatah  an'  de  'possum  ;  de  grabe  ob  de  ole  fo'ks 
an'  de  chillun  am  bery  deah  t'  de  brack  fo'ks'  heaht, 
an'  de  cabin  an'  de  fren's  what  lib  in  ole  Kaintuck  am 
presh'us.  But  when  Cupe  say  t'  Dinah,  fo'  de  good  ob 
de  chile,  de  deed  mus'  be  done,  Dinah  '11  let  de  fiah  go 
out  on  de  cabin  harf,  an  '11  close  de  cabin  doah ;  she  '11 
took  a  las'  look  at  de  ole  home,  an'  wid  Cupe  an'  de 
honey  chile  '11  slip  away  in  de  night." 

The  head  of  the  negress  fell  upon  the  coverlet,  her 
eyes  sought  the  bottle  on  the  mantelpiece.  For  a  long 
time  she  rested  in  this  position,  then  attempted  to  rise, 
but  irresistible  languor  held  her  in  place.  She  reached 
up  her  hand,  pointed  to  the  vial,  and  wanderingly  spoke : 
"  Yo'  wah  sweet  t'  de  taste,  yo'  honey  bottle,  but  yo' 
caint  tole  Cupe  nuffin,  fo'  de  line  am  on  de  mark." 
Her  eyes  closed  dreamily  and  she  mumbled  :  "  De 
Canerdy  Lan'  am  cole  an'  de  grabes  ob  de  missus  an' 
de  chillun  in  Kaintuck  am  deah,  but  fo'  de  good  ob  de 
Susie  chile  an'  de  lub  ob  ole  Cupe,  Dinah  '11  close  de 
cabin  doah  ferebah." 


184 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

CUPE'S   STORY    OF    THE    PAST 

TRUDGING  through  the  gathering  dusk  of  the 
evening,  Cupe,  with  the  sack  on  his  back  and  the 
dog  at  his  heels,  reached  the  outskirts  of  Stringtown. 
He  climbed  the  fence  about  one  of  the  back  lots,  near 
one  of  the  frame  houses,  and  struck  an  alley-way,  that 
led  to  the  pike.  Walking  then  along  the  sidewalk,  he 
reached  the  door  of  Mr.  Wagner.  Once  before,  bearing 
the  clothing  of  Susie,  he  had  stood  before  that  door,  and 
having  delivered  his  bundle  had  retreated  with  heavy 
heart.  Now  again  with  another  bundle  he  stood  on  the 
same  spot,  hat  in  hand,  his  white  head  conspicuous  in  the 
gloom.  Mr.  Wagner  opened  the  door,  and  recognising 
Cupe,  invited  him  in. 

"  You  may  drop  your  sack  by  the  side  of  the  door;  it 
will  be  perfectly  safe." 

"  Ef  et  am  de  same  t'  yo',  Ma'se  Wagnah,  I  '11  sot  et 
inside  de  room." 

"  Certainly,  do  as  you  choose." 

Cupe  not  only  "  sot  et  inside  de  room,"  but  he 
deposited  it  at  his  very  feet,  standing  bareheaded  beside 
the  odd-looking  package. 

Mr.  Wagner  made  no  attempt  to  induce  the  visitor  to 
be  seated,  knowing  that  Cupe's  negro  training  would 
not  allow  him  to  sit  in  the  parlour  of  a  white  man. 
Looking  about  the  room,  Cupe  spied  upon  the  walx  a 
trinket  that  once  belonged  to  Susie.  Beginning  the  con- 

185 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

versation  after  the  manner  of  the  negro,  he  addressed  the 
trinket  instead  of  Mr.  Wagner. 

"  An*  wha'  es  de  Susie  gearl  what  carry  yo'  in  her 
han'  ?  Am  yo'  lonesome  in  de  silence,  do  yo'  lis'n  fo' 
de  tongue  ob  de  pert  chile  dat  am  gone  ?  " 

Mr.  Wagner  could  but  feel  a  pang  of  remorse.  He 
knew  that  Cupe  was  speaking  to  him,  though  addressing 
the  inanimate  trinket. 

Turning  from  that  Cupe  directly  asked  :  "  An'  hab 
yo'  hea'd  any  news  from  de  honey  gearl  ? " 

u  None,  excepting  the  statement  of  the  furloughed  sol 
dier,  who  saw  a  child  in  camp  before  Murfreesboro." 

"  An'  did  yo'  send  a  man  t'  see  ef  et  wah  Susie  ?  " 

ct  Yes ;  but  he  could  find  no  trace  of  her.  The 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  is  constantly  changing  its 
location,  and  there  has  been  heavy  fighting.  Cupe, 
God  knows  that  1  thought  I  was  doing  my  duty  to  the 
child.  Would  that  she  were  in  her  old  home  with  you 
again  !  " 

"  Yoah  yintention  wah  good,  Ma'se  Wagnah,  an' 
Cupe  doan  bear  no  blame  t'  yo'.  De  trouble  wah  dat 
yo'  tried  t'  cross  Prov'dence  an  t'  bre'k  de  workin'  ob 
de  sign.  Cupe  hab  t'  say  es  how  he  am  t'  blame  fo'  de 
crime,  an'  not  yo'." 

"  You,  Cupid  !  Why,  you  begged  for  possession  of 
your  charge.  Your  pleadings  brought  tears  to  my  eyes, 
your  voice  has  never  left  my  ears.  Had  I  listened  to  you, 
Susie  would  have  been  happy  in  your  cabin  now." 

"  Et  wah  de  Co'ht  an'  not  yo',  Ma'se  Wagnah.  Yo' 
did  de  biddin'  ob  de  law,  but  de  law  am  not  es  strong  es 
de  sign,  fo'  de  sign  am  de  biddin'  ob  God.  Et  wah 
Cupe  who  es  t'  blame,  doan  I  tole  yo',  fo'  he  lose  his 
head  when  de  day  ob  trouble  hove  in  sight." 

u  How  were  you  to  blame  ? " 
1 36 


Cupe's  Story  of  the  Past 

w  Ef  Cupe  had  had  his  wits,  he  'ud  hab  brought  de  sack 
yo'  see  on  de  flo'.  De  fool  nigger  lose  his  sense." 

Mr.  Wagner  looked  inquiringly  toward  the  sack. 

"  Ef  yo'  '11  lis'n  t'  Cupe  he  '11  tole  yo'  what  he  should 
hab  said  de  day  yo'  come  fo'  Susie." 

"  Go  on." 

Standing  on  the  floor,  the  old  man  began  his  story. 
He  forgot  himself,  he  lost  sight  of  his  hearer,  his  tongue, 
keeping  time  with  his  vivid  memory,  became  eloquent, 
as  the  words  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  De  day  what  perish  long  ago  wah  gone.  Et  went 
into  de  da'kness  when  ole  Ma'se  Hardman  wah  foun' 
dead  in  Bloody  Hollah.  De  niggers  shet  demselbs  in  de 
cabin,  skeahed  nigh  t'  defF.  De  witches  wah  plattin'  de 
ho'ses'  tail  in  de  bahn,  de  owl  wah  sittin'  in  de  top  ob 
de  hick'ry  tree  lookin'  mighty  wise,  but  sayin'  not  a 
word.  De  sign  wah  in  de  air,  an'  Cupe  go  out  in  de 
night  an'  look  in  de  watah  ob  de  spring  an'  read  de 
word.  Et  say  dat  young  ma'se  'ud  die  on  de  New  Yeah 
night,  es  yo'  know  he  did  die,  an'  dat  Susie  chile  'ud 
come  es  she  did  come,  an'  et  say  moah  dan  dat ;  but  yo' 
am  consarned  only  wid  what  et  say  'bout  de  chile.  An* 
den  de  long  yeahs  pass,  an'  one  mahn'n  Cupe  say: 
c  Ma'se,  t'-morrah  mahn'n  'bout  day  broke  Bloody 
Hollah  '11  mix  etself  ag'in  in  yoah  affairs.' 

" '  Damn  Bloody  Hollah !  '  say  de  ma'se. 

" '  A  chile  '11  be  foun'  by  de  lone  grabe.' 

"  c  Shet  up  yoah  nigger  signs  ! '  say  de  ma'se. 

"  c  An'  de  chile  '11  come  an'  stay  in  dis  cabin.' 

" '  Close  yoah  lips,  I  tole  yo' ! '  an',  sayin'  dat,  ma'se 
walk  off. 

u  But  when  de  gvey  ob  de  mahn'n  come,  Cupe  wah 
stan'n'  by  de  doah  ob  de  cabin,  an'  ma'se  he  op'n  de 
doah  an'  walk  out,  es  Cupe  'spected  him  t'  do.  He 

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Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

look  kindah  queer  when  he  see  Cupe  stan'n'  dah,  an' 
den  he  say :  c  Cupe,  yo'  kin  come  wid  me;  I  'm  gwine 
t'  show  yo'  dat  nigger  signs  am  fool  signs.'  But  Cupe, 
he  know  dat  de  omen  wah  wo'kin'  on  de  ma'se,  an*  he 
keep  his  mouf  shet,  an'  follud  de  ma'se,  who  go  straight 
fo'  Bloody  Hollah.  An'  when  ma'se  an*  Cupe  stan'  on 
de  hill  an'  look  fru  de  fog,  sump'n'  wah  to  be  seed  in  de 
hollah,  sump'n'  dat  in  de  grey  ob  mahn'n  wah  mon 
strous  queer  lookin'.  Et  wah  on  de  Bloody  Hollah 
grabe.  An'  ma'se  he  stop  a  minit  kindah  s'prised  like, 
an'  Cupe  raise  his  han'  an'  pint  down  into  de  Hollah 
obah  de  shouldah  ob  de  ma'se,  an'  say  : 

" c  De  signs  am  come'n  true.' 

" c  Et  am  a  cow,'  say  ma'se,  an*  tuhn  back. 

" '  Et  am  not  a  cow,  et  am  de  chile  pinted  t'  by  de 
sign,'  say  Cupe.  An'  jes  den  de  crittah  rise  up  an'  stan' 
on  de  grabe.  Et  wah  tall  an'  slim  an*  red  an*  white,  but 
de  fog  wah  t'ick,  an'  only  de  colour  an'  de  size  could  be 
seed.  Et  wah  an  awful  sight,  a  skeery  ting. 

" '  Et  am  not  a  chile,'  say  ma'se,  an'  he  kindah 
shiver. 

" c  An'  suah  et  am  not  a  cow.  Ef  de  sign  am  wrong 
et  am  monstrous  queer,'  say  Cupe. 

"  An'  so  ma'se  stan'  skeered  like,  an'  Cupe  wah  kindah 
sollum  case  de  sign  wah  wrong.  De  crittah  wah  not  a 
chile  an*  not  a  cow  an'  not  like  any  uddah  crittah.  Jes 
den  de  breeze  raise  de  fog,  an'  et  show  a  lone  woman 
holdin*  sump'n'  in  her  arms.  De  woman  wah  in  a 
white  dress,  an*  de  bundle  she  hole  wah  red  es  blood. 
An'  ma'se  he  look  kindah  cu'yus  like  at  Cupe,  an'  den 
he  swo'  a  cuss  word,  an'  down  into  de  Hollah  he  go, 
Cupe  by  his  side.  Befo'  God,  Ma'se  Wagnah,  et  wah  a 
lone  woman,  an'  in  her  arms  she  hole  Susie  wrapped  in 
a  red  shawl. 

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Cupe's  Story  of  the  Past 

"  An*  ma'se  he  say  kindah  cross-like  :  c  Wha'  yo' 
come  from  ? '  An*  de  woman  pinted  to'ard  de  Norf. 
An'  ma'se,  he  ax :  '  Wha'  yo'  gwine  t'  ?  '  An*  she 
look  down  at  de  grabe.  Ma'se,  he  stop  a  minit  an'  den 
say  :  c  Yo'  am  not  alone,  uddah  people  am  gwine  'long 
on  de  same  road,  an'  de  soonah  some  ob  dem  gets  t'  de 
end  de  bettah  fo'  de  worl','  say  ma'se. 

u  Den  ma'se  look  at  de  chile,  an*  kindah  see  sump'n' 
in  ets  eye  t'  make  him  t'ink  a  minit  es  Cupe  'spected 
him  t'  do  when  he  seed  dem  eyes  ag'in.  He  tuhns  on 
de  woman  sudden  like  an'  say  :  c  What  fo'  yo'  brung 
dat  chile  heah  ?  Wha'  yo'  git  dat  chile  ? ' 

"  An'  de  woman  say :  '  Yo'  know  de  look  ob  de  eye 
ob  de  chile  ?  Wha'  else  kin  de  chile  go  ? ' 

u'To  de  debbil,  wha'  ets  fahdah  gwine,  de  coward.' 

"  An'  then  ma'se  look  ag'in  at  de  chile,  an'  say  :  c  De 
eyes  ob  de  chile  go  back  t'  de  day  ets  fahdah  wah  young. 
I  see  de  sweet  boy  a-sittin'  by  my  side  ag'in.  De  dim 
ple'  cheek,  de  white  skin.  De  eye  ob  de  chile  befo'  me 
call  back  de  day  ob  long  ago.'  Den  he  tuhn  on  de 
woman  savage-like :  c  Woman,  I  swo'  once  by  all  de 
gods  an*  debbils  dat  ef  ebah  de  fahdah  ob  dat  chile,  er 
kin  ob  de  fahdah,  sot  foot  on  de  ole  farm,  ets  life  'udn't 
be  wuff  de  coppahs  on  a  dead  nigger's  eyes.  An'  now 
yo'  brung  de  ole  times  back,  de  times  when  de '  —  den 
he  bre'k  off — c  damn  de  ole  times  ! '  he  say. 

u  De  woman  look  down  at  de  grabe  an'  cry.  De 
chile  look  up  into  ma'se's  face  an'  laugh,  an'  hole  out 
ets  little  arms,  an'  den  Cupe  spoke,  fo'  he  see  wicked 
ness  risin'  in  ma'se's  eye. 

u  c  Ma'se,  yo'  swo'  ef  ebah  de  fahdah  ob  dat  chile,  er 
kin  ob  de  fahdah,  sot  foot  on  de  ole  place  yo'ud  do 
mu'd'h.' 

uc  Yes,'  say  ma'se  ;  c  an'  one  ob  de  varmints  am  heah 
189 


Strmgtown  on  the  Pike 

now,  an'  I  'tend  t'  choke  de  life  out  ob  de  brat.'  He 
reach  out  his  han',  es  ef  t'  grab  de  chile,  an'  den  Cupe 
step  betwixt  de  two.  '  Hole  yoah  han'  !  '  Cupe  say,  an' 
strike  et  down.  '  De  fahdah  am  not  heah  an'  de  chile  am 
not  stann  on  de  groun'.  Yo'  hab  mu'd'h  in  yoah  heaht, 
an'  hab  no  right  t'  act  out  de  oaff  les'n  de  chile  am 
stan'n'  on  de  earf.' 

"  Ma'se  stop  a  minit,  an'  den  he  say :  '  Come  t'  de 
cabin  ! ' 

u  An'  de  woman  come.  Dah  wa  'n't  nuffin  moah 
said,  she  jes  come  an'  stay.  De  woman  sleep  wid  de 
chile  in  de  loP,  an'  Dinah  sleep  on  de  flo'  ob  de  lof,  an' 
Cupe  sleep  on  de  flo'  ob  de  cabin  room  beside  de  bed  ob 
ma'se.  But  de  sign  wah  come  true  ! 

'*  Ma'se  he  keep  away  from  de  woman  an'  nebbah 
speak  t'  de  chile  fo'  a  long  time.  But  he  keep  a  mon 
strous  lookin'  at  ets  big,  roun'  eyes,  an'  moah  dan  once 
Cupe  cotch  de  tear  drops  stealin'  down  his  rough  cheek. 
But  Cupe  doan  say  nuffin  fo'  feah  et  'ud  cross  de  sign. 

"  One  day  de  muddah  ob  Susie  say  t'  Cupe  :  '  Git  me 
some  writin'  papah.'  An'  Cupe  when  he  go  t'  String- 
town  git  a  sheet.  An'  when  he  han'  et  t'  her,  she  look 
at  et  kindah  cu'yus  like,  an'  say :  c  Et  am  not  nuff.  I 
wan'  t'  write  de  story  ob  de  chile.'  An'  Cupe  nex'  day 
git  a  whole  pack  ob  big-size  papah  an'  a  dozen  bright 
pencils.  An'  de  muddah  ob  Susie  take  de  papah  an' 
write  an'  write.  De  days  come  an'  go,  an'  she  write 
an'  write.  Ma'se  he  doan  say  nuffin  an'  doan  ax  no 
quistions.  He  had  n't  any  wrilin'  sense.  An'  at  las'  de 
woman  wrap  de  papah  up  an'  write  sump'n'  on  de  out 
side  ob  de  pack. 

"  Den  nex'  mahn'n  she  say  t'  ma'se  :  c  Dah  am  nusses 
wanted  down  in  Tennessy.' 

"  An*  ma'se  he  say  :  '  A  namb'lance  train  fo'  de  Souf 
190 


Cupe's  Story  of  the  Past 

am  campin'  in  de  fiel'  by  de  pond  ob  Mr.  Nordman 
now.' 

u  An'  de  woman  say  nuffin  fo'  a  time,  an'  den  she  go 
t'  de  cupboard  an'  take  from  et  de  red  shawl  what  Susie 
wah  wrapped  in  de  mahn'n  she  wah  found  in  Bloody 
Hollah." 

Cupe  paused  and  turned  his  eyes  to  a  tiny,  well-worn 
shawl  hanging  from  a  peg  in  the  wall,  and  in  a  solemn 
tone  remarked,  pointing  with  his  finger  as  he  did  so  : 
"  Dah  am  de  bressed  gahment  now." 

Then  he  continued  :  "  An'  den  de  muddah  took  de 
chile  in  her  arms  an'  cry.  Ma'se  he  kindah  feel  dat 
sump'n'  wah  come'n,  an'  he  say  :  l  De  war  am  not  fo' 
chillun.' 

"  De  woman  stop  a  minit,  an*  den  she  say :  *  May  de 
chile  stay  ? ' 

" c  Yes,'  say  ma'se ;  '  but  ef  de  fahdah  put  foot  on  de 
place,  dah  '11  be  a  grabe  dug ;  et  '11  be  fo'  him  er  me.' 

u  Den  she  sot  Susie  in  de  little  hick'ry  cheer  what 
Cupe  done  made  fo'  her,  an'  clime  t'  de  lof '  an'  come 
down  wid  de  bundle  ob  papah  an'  lay  et  on  de  table. 

u  *  What  am  in  de  bundle  ? '  ax  ma'se. 

"  '  A  load  ob  sin.' 

u  She  take  from  her  pocket  a  little  purse  (Cupe  held 
up  a  silk  purse)  an'  she  lay  et  on  de  papah  an'  say  :  c  Et 
am  all  I  hab.'  Den  she  pick  Susie  up  an'  kiss  an*  hug 
her  an'  cry  obah  her,  an'  Dinah  cry  an'  ma'se  an'  Cupe 
kindah  feel  bery  sollum'  like.  c  Doan  none  ob  yo'  follah 
me,'  she  say.  '  De  wages  of  sin  am  deff,'  she  muttah  t' 
herselb,  an'  tuhn  from  de  doah.  But  ma'se  an'  Cupe  go 
out  too,  an'  es  de  doah  shet  stan'  by  her  side.  '  What 
'bout  de  papah  yo'  write  ? '  ma'se  ax. 

"  She  stop  an'  look  at  ma'se  an'  Cupe,  an*  den 
she  say :  *  Ef  ebah  hahm  pint  t'  Susie  yo'  kin  use  de; 

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Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

papah.  Et  '11  tole  yo'  wha'  Susie  hab  de  right  t'  Jib  an1 
et  '11  gib  de  chile  de  libin'  she  am  'titled  t'  er  et  '11  brung 
shame  t'  de  home  ob  a  man  who  doan  wan'  no  shame.' 

u  c  What  am  in  de  papah  ? ' 

44 4  De  story  ob  a  life  ob  sin.' 

44 'An'  de  chile  am  mixed  in  de  crime,  de  yinnecent 
chile  ? '  Cupe  ax. 

« *  Yes.' 

" '  Yo'  lie,  yo'  lie,  yo'  muddah  ob  de  chile,'  ma'se 
say  ;  4  dah  nebbah  wah  sin  on  an  unbohn  babe,  an'  no 
sin  hab  come  t'  Susie  sense  she  wah  bohn.' 

44  4  Et  wah  case  ob  de  muddah's  sin.' 

u  *  Yo'  lie  ag'in  !  De  muddah  what  bear  de  chile,  de 
muddah  what  hole  de  chile  t'  her  bos'm  when  de  cussed 
man  hide  hims  head,  de  muddah  what  face  de  shame  an' 
face  de  worl'  wid  de  chile  in  her  arms  am  pure  —  by  all 
de  gods  she  am  pure !  Et  am  de  man  who  sin',  an'  yo' 
know  et,  de  coward  who  sneak  off  an'  lebe  yo'  t'  bear  de 
chile  alone,  de  cur  who  sit  smilin'  now.  Et  am  nebbah 
de  muddah  wid  de  chile  on  her  bos'm,  but  always  de 
man  who  am  de  sneakin'  dawg,  de  sinnin'  brute,  de 
coward  ! ' 

u  Den  de  muddah  ob  Susie  say  :  4  Ef  yo'  am  right  de 
worl'  am  wrong,  fo'  de  worl'  say  de  chile  an'  de  muddah 
am  de  sinners.  An'  et  wah  case  ob  de  sin  dat  I  take 
my  chile  an'  go  'way  fo'  de  good  ob  de  fahdah,  who  am 
safe.' 

44 4  But,'  she  go  on,  c  ef  trouble  rise  up  an'  yo'  wan' 
Susie  t'  stay  in  de  cabin,  let  de  story  be  read.  De  man 
who  de  papah  pints  to  '11  send  money.' 

"'Damn  de  man  an'  damn  his  money!'  say  ma'se. 
4  Nebbah  yo'  min'  de  money ;  when  yo'  am  back  from 
de  war  yo  '11  fin'  de  chile  in  de  cabin,  an'  dah  '11  be  a 
place  fo'  yo' ;  but  no  place  fo'  his  dirty  money.' 

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Cupe's  Story  of  the  Past 

"  She  turn  t'  go,  den  she  stop  ag'in.  c  Be  keerful 
who  reads  de  story ;  et  am  not  fo'  scandal  tongue,'  she 
say.  An'  den  she  walk  'way.  She  go  alone  t'  de 
yamb'lance  train  !  "  Cupe  stopped. 

u  And  did  you  hear  nothing  from  her  afterward  ?  " 
Cupe  took   from  his  pocket-book  the  clipping  of  3 
newspaper,  which  Mr.  Wagner  read  aloud : 

A   NURSE   KILLED 

A  shell  from  a  rebel  battery  near  Dallas,  Georgia,  Tuesday 
morning  struck  and  instantly  killed  a  nurse.  She  came  in  an 
ambulance  train  from  Kentucky,  but  nothing  is  known  of  her 
history.  Heedless  of  her  own  safety,  she  moved  about  the 
field,  succouring  the  wounded  of  both  armies.  Careless  of  her 
self,  in  the  thick  of  battle,  while  holding  a  canteen  of  water  to 
the  mouth  of  a  dying  soldier,  her  life  was  suddenly  destroyed. 
Nothing  that  could  give  a  clue  to  her  identity  was  found  among 
her  meagre  effects,  nothing  but  an  addressed,  stamped  envelope, 
in  which  was  a  request  that  in  case  of  her  death  a  simple  state 
ment  of  the  fact  be  mailed  in  the  same  envelope,  and  that  no 
effort  be  made  to  find  her  friends.  Only  this  and  the  following 
request  added  as  a  postscript  :  "  Please  lay  me  out  in  white." 

As  Mr.  Wagner  ceased  reading,  Cupe  broke  in : 

"  She  say,  '  De  wages  ob  sin  am  deff,'  an*  she  am 
dead,  but  befo'  God,  df  sin  wah  not  hern." 

"  A  sad  story,  Cupia,  but  it  is  told  too  late.  The 
mother  is  dead,  the  child  is  lost." 

"  Ef  de  chile  could  be  foun',  Ma'se  Wagnah  ?  " 

"  Impossible !  " 

w  'Ud  yoj  gib  de  keepin'  ob  de  chile  t'  de  brack 
fo'ks  ? " 

"The  child  ;s  gone." 

Cupe  leaned  over,  opened  the  sack  at  his  feet,  took 
from  it  the  oblong  package  of  manuscript  handed  him  by 
'3  193 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Dinah,  and  said  :  "When  de  candle  am  lighted  t'-morrali 
ebenin*  in  de  grocery  Cupe  '11  come  t'  de  grocery-store 
meetin'.  Yo'  hab  de  papah  written  by  de  woman  lyin* 
in  de  battle  groun'  ob  Georgia.  Ef  yo  '11  read  de  lines 
p'raps  yo'  would  raddah  de  chile  stay  wid  de  nigger." 

The  negro  turned  to  the  door :  "  De  writin'  am  only 
fo'  yo'  ;  et  am  none  ob  Stringtown's  consahn."  The 
door  closed  and  Mr.  Wagne/  retired  to  his  room. 

When  morning  broke,  the  village  clerk  sat  in  his 
chair ;  the  manuscript  before  him  had  been  read  a 
second  time ;  his  head  rested  on  his  hand,  the  lamp 
still  burned,  for  Mr.  Wagner,  in  deep  reflection,  gave 
no  thought  to  the  passage  of  time. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CUPE    PURCHASES    HIS    WIFE 

CUPE  after  leaving  Mr.  Wagner  did  not  go  directly 
home.  Instead,  with  the  sack  over  his  shoulder, 
he  sought  the  dwelling  of  Judge  Elford.  Once  before 
he  had  passed  from  door  to  door  of  these  two  houses, 
and  this  second  reception  at  the  home  of  Judge  Elford 
was  nearly  a  repetition  of  the  first  one.  The  negro  was 
invited  into  the  sitting-room,  and  in  kindly  tones  asked 
to  state  his  business. 

Glancing  about,  he  threw  in  a  side  remark,  by  way 
of  introduction  : 

"  De  bot'm  ob  de  cheer  yo*  wah  sittin'  in  am  in 
trouble  ag'in.  Ef  yo  '11  let  de  nigger  took  et  home,  he  '11 
put  in  a  new  bot'm  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Cupe,"  said  the  judge,  knowing  well  that 
this  was  not  the  business  which  brought  his  caller  at 
that  hour. 

u  Et  am  many  yeahs  sense  Cupe  larn'  t'  bot'm  cheers. 
De  cohn-shuck  twist  am  hardah  dan  de  hick'ry  strip,  an* 
de  hick'ry  bot'm  las'  de  best." 

"  Let  it  be  a  hickory  bottom." 

u  Lawd,  de  dimes  an'  qua'tahs  what  Cupe  made 
bot'min'  cheers  fo'  Stringtown  fo'k,"  the  old  darkey 
remarked,  and  reached  again  into  the  sack  ;  taking 
therefrom  the  heavy  oblong  tin  box,  he  stepped  defer 
entially  to  the  desk  of  the  judge  and  placed  it  before  him, 
inserted  a  tiny  key  into  the  lock,  turned  it,  raised  the  lid 
and  stepped  back. 

195 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Beneath  the  cover  lay  a  neatly  folded  paper,  which 
Judge  Elford  opened  and  read  at  Cupe's  request.  Then 
he  looked  in  surprise  at  the  negro  and  remarked  : 

"  Your  freedom,  Cupe,  you  are  a  free  man  !  These 
papers  were  drawn  up  fifty  years  ago  ;  they  are  properly 
signed  and  witnessed." 

The  old  man  chuckled.  "  Dah  am  'nuddah  papah," 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  the  judge  continued,  reading  again  :  "  This 
paper  is  a  bill  of  sale.  In  consideration  of  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars,  to  be  paid  by  Cupid  Hardman  to  the  legal 
heir  of  your  recent  master,  Dinah  is  to  be  freed." 

Again  the  negro  chuckled :  "  An  '11  yo'  count  de 
money  in  de  box  ? "  He  leaned  over,  by  an  effort 
carefully  inverted  the  box  on  the  desk,  and  raised  it. 
Within  were  coins  of  every  size  and  description.  The 
astonished  judge,  though  rejoicing  in  his  humble  friend's 
triumph,  was  reluctant  to  undertake  the  tedious  task 
suggested  by  the  negro,  who  himself  realised  that  it 
was  a  task. 

"  Dah  am  'zac'ly  twelve  hund'd  dollahs.  Yo'  kin 
take  yoah  time  t'  count  et."  The  wrinkled  fingers  of 
the  slave  playfully  stirred  the  medley  of  coins.  Picking 
up  a  silver  dollar,  Cupe  scrutinised  it  closely,  saying  : 
"  De  mark  am  on  yo'  yit  —  de  mark  ob  de  file.  Kin 
yo'  memberlec'  de  night  yo'  wah  handed  to  Cupe,  de 
night  ob  de  shiveree  ?  De  bright  young  missus  in  de 
house  on  de  pike  han'  yo'  t'  Cupe,  an'  say:  cFo'  waitin* 
on  de  table,  Cupe.'  God  bress  her  sweet  face !  Cupe 
sees  her  yit  es  she  smile  at  de  nigger  dat  wed'n'  night, 
de  night  she  marry  Ma'se  Nordman.  But  de  face  am 
sah'rin'  now  —  one  chile  wearin'  de  Blue,  de  uddah 
wearin'  de  Grey." 

Unwrapping  the  tissue  paper  from  a  five-dollar  gold 

196 


Cupe  purchases  his  Wife 

piece,  Cupe  abruptly  addressed  the  judge  :  u  Did  yo* 
ebah  see  dis  shinin'  piece  befo'  ? "  Then  continued, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer :  "  An'  why  should  yo' 
know  de  coin  from  ets  bruddahs  ?  Yo'  hab  seed  many 
like  et,  suah.  But  Cupe  mahked  dis  beauty,  an'  heah 
am  de  mahk."  He  pointed  to  a  tiny  cross.  "  Do  yo' 
min'  de  day  Cupe  hole  de  strap  an'  let  de  coffin  ob  de 
missus  down  into  de  earf  ?  An'  do  yo'  min'  dat  es 
Cupe  pass  yoah  doah  dat  night  yo'  came  out  an'  slip 
de  shinin'  gol'  into  his  han'  ?  Dis  am  dat  coin,  Ma'se 
Elford."  Cupe  turned  it  slowly  between  his  fingers. 
"  Et  am  es  bright  es  de  day  et  wah  buried,  an'  de  face 
ob  de  angel  missus  in  Heaben  am  shinin'  bright  es  dat 
gol'.  De  grabe  caint  rub  de  shine  off  de  gol'  yo'  gib  in 
her  name.  But  dah  ain't  no  use  in  sech  memberlectins. 
De  money  am  all  honest  now,  fo'  Cupe  made  et  square, 
but  de  Lawd  knows  wha'  some  ob  et  hab  be'n." 

The  negro  paused  in  his  speech,  and  fingered  the 
gold.  The  judge  was  silent.  Evidently  his  thoughts 
were  in  the  solemn  past,  which  had  been  recalled  by 
Cupe's  artful  tongue.  By  and  by  he  asked  :  u  Is  this 
money  for  the  purpose  of  buying  your  wife,  Dinah  ?  " 

u  Et  am.  Dis  nigger  hab  be'n  sab'n'  de  money  fo' 
de  pu'pose.  De  patch  ob  t'backah  what  he  raise  in  de 
Satuhday  afternoon  am  buhned  long,  long  ago  ;  de  rabbet 
what  he  sell  t'  Stringtown  fo'ks  am  gone,  an'  pow'ful 
many  ob  de  fo'ks  what  eat  et  am  dead  ;  de  cheer  bot'ms 
what  Cupe  put  in  hab  been  wo'n  out,  but  de  money  dey 
brung  am  safe.  Yo'  kin  count  et  at  yoah  ease,  Ma'se 
Elford  ;  et  am  all  dah."  He  turned  to  the  door. 

"  Take  the  papers,  Cupe,  your  own  and  Dinah's 
freedom  papers."  The  negro  hesitated.  u  Ef  et  am  de 
same  t'  yo',  Ma'se,  de  papahs  an'  de  money  may  stay 
t'geddah.  Mebby  dah  won't  be  no  use  fo'  de  papahs. 

1 97 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Cupe  Joan  wan*  no  disgrace  on  his  head,  an*  doan  'tend 
t'  hab  no  disgrace." 

"  Explain  your  meaning." 

"  Ef  some  mahn'n  de  cry  come  t'  Stringtown  dat  Cupe 
an'  Dinah  am  gone,  ef  de  cabin  am  empty  an'  de  doah 
locked,  ef  dah  hain't  be'n  no  good-bye  said,  de  fo'ks  ob 
dis  heah  town  '11  'cuse  Cupe  an'  Dinah  ob  stealin'  dem- 
selbs  an'  runnin'  'way  t'  Canerdy.  Ef  sech  tings  come 
will  yo'  stan'  in  de  co'ht  an'  show  dat  freedom  papah  ob 
Cupe  an'  count  de  money  he  pay  fo'  Dinah  into  de  box 
ob  de  co'ht  ?  " 

«  I  will." 

"  An'  sabe  de  honah  ob  de  two  ole  slabes  ?  " 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it." 

Again  Cupe  turned  to  the  door,  and  again  he  stopped. 
"  But  cf  Cupe  an'  Dinah  keep  libin'  in  de  cabin,  bettah 
yo'  keep  de  papahs  an'  de  money,  an*  keep  all  de  fac's 
t'  yo'selb  ;  an'  ef  Cupe  an'  Dinah  die  in  de  cabin,  de 
papahs  am  t'  be  read  by  de  preachah  at  de  grabe's  side, 
fo'  Cupe  wan's  t'  go  into  Heaben  free,  an'  t'  hab  a  free 
wife  too." 

"  And  the  money  ?  " 

"  De  money  am  fo'  Susie,  ef  she  ebah  am  foun'." 

"  Susie  is  gone  forever." 

u  Do  yo'  'member  what  Cupe  tole  yo'  de  night  he 
stan'  in  dis  room  an  beg  fo'  de  chile  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  He  say  :  c  De  law  say  dat  de  chile  caint  lib  wid 
Cupe,  but  de  sign  say  dat  she  mus'  lib  wid  Cupe.'  An' 
Susie  am  gone  ferebah,  yo'  say,  but  Cupe  b'lebe  in  de 
sign,  an'  Cupe  say  dat  she  am  not  gone,  but  '11  come 
back  when  de  law  am  out  ob  de  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Cupe  ?  " 

"  'Ud  yo'  let  her  stay  wid  de  brack  fo'ks  ef  she  wah 
t*  come  back  5  "  198 


Cupe  purchases  his  Wife 

The  judge  looked  quickly  at  the  earnest  old  slave  and 
a  sudden  light  came  over  his  face.  "  Yes,"  he  impul 
sively  added,  u  if  Susie  is  found  her  home  may  be  with 
you  until  she  asks  to  go  elsewhere." 

"  An'  so  God  am  greatah  dan  de  law,"  said  Cupe. 
"Yo'  may  fold  dem  papahs  'way,  Ma'se,  case  Cupe  doan 
'tend  t'  be  freed.  Ef  he  wah  a  free  man  he  could  n't 
stay  in  de  cabin.  Et  am  monstrous  pleasant  t'  be  a 
slabe  an*  not  t'  worry  obah  de  rent  er  feed.  Et  am 
pow'ful  satisfyin'  t'  de  soul  t'  open  de  eyes  in  de  mahn'n 
an'  see  de  cohn  a-growin'  an'  heah  de  chicken  an'  de 
duck  crowin'  an'  a-talkin'  an'  t'  know  dat  de  flour  sack 
an'  de  meal  bah'l  am  full.  Cupe  an'  Dinah  '11  jes  wait 
in  de  cabin  an'  be  slabes  'til  dey  die,  an'  ef  Susie  comes 
back  t'  Stringtown  she  '11  fin'  de  cabin  doah  open  an'  de 
cubbah  spread  on  de  table.  Jes  sot  de  money  to  'side 
fo'  her  in  case  ob  a  rainy  day,  an'  read  de  papahs  ob 
freedom  obah  de  grabe  ob  de  niggers,  an'  den  gib  de 
money  t'  de  Susie  chile."  Cupe  backed  out  of  the 
room  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  lamp  that  threw  its  light  over  the  open  book 
wherein  Mr.  Wagner  once  had  read  the  lines  that  saved 
Cupe,  "  By  Right  of  Clergy,"  lighted  the  desk,  now 
weighted  with  coin  collected  during  that  man's  many 
days  of  bondage.  As  the  door  closed  the  judge  mur 
mured  :  "  Thank  God  the  negro  has  found  the  child, 
but  how  can  I  explain  to  Mr.  Wagner  that  he  must  give 
up  Susie  ?  " 


199 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"  A    FEARFUL    SIGN  " 

'  I  VHE  edge  of  winter,  moving  down  from  the  North, 
A  had  brought  mist  and  cloud.  The  air  of  the 
day  just  passed  had  been  saturated  with  gloom  and 
shade.  The  clouds  hung  low ;  they  scraped  the  tree- 
tops  in  the  woodland  on  the  hill,  but  no  rain  had  fallen 
from  their  sombre  folds.  Instead,  cool  breezes  arose 
that  grew  cooler  as  the  day  sped  and  fairly  cold  when 
evening  came.  If  the  sun  moved  across  the  heavens 
that  day  no  ray  from  it  reached  the  earth.  The  pre 
ceding  night  had  turned  directly  into  leaden  day,  the 
dreary  day  had  worn  itself  out  and  disappeared  in  gloom ; 
there  had  been  no  twilight  of  morn  or  eve,  there  had 
been  no  blending  of  light  and  darkness. 

When  Cupe  stepped  into  the  house  of  Mr.  Wagner 
it  was  still  daytime,  yet  the  lamp  was  lighted ;  when  he 
stepped  out  again  night  had  come,  but  no  brighter  lamp 
light  was  needed  than  before  the  day  had  fairly  sped. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  had  there  been  a  full  moon 
high  in  the  heavens  no  ray  could  have  pierced  that  thick 
cloak.  The  heavens  and  the  earth  were  hidden  from 
sight.  When  Cupe  left  the  door  of  Judge  Elford  the 
darkness  above  and  below  had  run  together ;  distance 
had  disappeared  ;  there  was  no  near,  no  far. 

Never    before    had    that    night-loving    man    felt   the 

200 


"A  Fearful  Sign 


weight  of  darkness.  He  stood  in  the  street  and  rubbed 
his  eyes,  opened  them  wide,  muttered  and  stood  ex 
pectant,  but  saw  no  light  save  an  occasional  window 
gleam,  which  served  but  to  deepen  the  surrounding 
blackness. 

"  Et  am  monstrous  strange  fo'  a  nigger  t'  be  caught 
by  de  da'kness,  et  am  s'prisin'  cu'yus.  When  a  nigger 
sleep  et  am  in  de  sunshine  ;  de  soPness  ob  de  sunshine 
am  soovin'  t'  de  eye.  When  de  night-time  come,  de 
cat,  de  dawg,  de  coon,  de  'possum  an'  de  nigger  am  on 
dere  feet.  De  night-time  am  de  time  fo'  de  brack  man 
t'  be  awake,  de  daytime  am  de  time  fo'  de  nigger  t' 
sleep.  An'  so  et  wah  in  de  hot  Guinee  country  Cupe's 
gran'dad  come  from,  when  eb'ry  creature  sleep  in  de 
day  an*  run  in  de  night.  Dat  habit  am  wid  de  nigger 
yet." 

Cupe  struggled  along,  aided  by  the  slender  light  that 
came  from  an  occasional  window,  until  he  turned  into 
a  field  below  the  village.  Then  impenetrable  darkness 
closed  in  upon  him  ;  the  tree-top,  waving  above,  made 
no  mark  against  the  sky,  the  horizon  gave  no  streak  to 
lighten  the  gloom ;  above  and  below  the  deepest  dark 
ness  reigned. 

Suddenly  to  the  right  he  caught  signt  of  a  moving 
light  that  floated  slowly  in  a  horizontal  direction  over 
the  earth,  seemingly  a  few  feet  above  its  surface.  The 
eyes  of  the  negro  were  riveted  on  the  phenomenon, 
which  —  a  globe  of  light,  not  a  flame — flitted  in  and 
out  of  sight  as  it  passed  behind  a  clump  of  bushes  or  a 
tree  trunk,  to  reappear  again.  Following  the  undulating 
surface  of  the  ground,  it  moved  steadily  along,  now  to 
the  right,  now  to  the  left,  but  ever  onward  toward  the 
spot  where  stood  the  man  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
strange  illumination,  which  was  neither  spark  nor  flame 

2OI 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

nor  any  form  of  fire.  There  was  no  wind.  The  negro 
thrust  a  finger  into  his  mouth,  withdrew  it  and  held  it 
in  the  air  above  his  head,  but  no  touch  of  coldness  came 
to  either  side ;  and  still  the  glimmer  flittered  back  and 
forth,  careless  alike  to  path  or  road,  drawing  closer  with 
each  change  of  direction. 

When  but  a  few  feet  from  the  negro  its  direction 
changed,  and  then  for  the  first  time  it  started  straight 
for  his  person,  floating  about  a  foot  above  the  earth. 
This  final  action  was  responded  to  by  the  old  man,  who, 
until  this  time,  but  for  the  single  movement  by  which 
he  had  tested  the  wind,  had  stood  like  a  statue.  With 
a  motion  strangely  rapid  for  one  so  aged,  he  jerked  his 
coat  from  his  person,  quickly  turned  the  sleeves  wrong 
side  out,  and  then  drew  it  on  again.  The  globe  of  light 
vibrated  as  if  in  response  to  the  action,  tremulously 
moved  up  and  down  like  a  lantern  in  a  wave-rocked 
boat,  then  turned  to  the  right,  passed  about  five  feet 
from  the  negro,  and  proceeding  now  in  a  direct  line  dis 
appeared  in  an  adjacent  thicket. 

"  Yo'  cussed  Jack  o'  Lantern,  an*  ef  yo'  had  got  on 
dis  nigger's  back  yo'  *ud  hab  rode  him  'til  mahn'n.  But 
Cupe  know  how  t'  circumbent  yo',  yo'  debbil's  light. 
No  Jack  o'  Lantern  dare  tech  de  man  who  w'ars  de  coat 
wrong  side  out.  Yo'  sly  cuss,  yo'  wabbled  about  es  ef 
yo'  wah  not  keerin'  fo'  de  nigger,  but  yo'  caint  fool  dis 
chile.  Lawd,  but  et  wah  a  close  call ;  fo'  ef  yo'  had 
come  from  b'hin',  yo'  'ud  hab  jumped  on  de  nigger  an* 
rode  him  till  de  light  ob  day.  Niggers  hab  be'n  cotched 
by  de  Jack  o'  Lanterns  and  rode  all  de  libelong  night, 
obah  de  hill,  fru  de  briars  an*  in  de  grabeyard.  An' 
when  dey  come  home  in  de  mahn'n,  tired  an'  near  'bout 
dead,  de  ma'se  say  dey  hab  be'n  out  t'  a  shindig  dance ; 
but  et  am  God's  fac'  dat  de  Jack  o'  Lanterns  cotch 

2O2 


*<A  Fearful  Sign 


niggers  what  doan  know  de  coat  sign,  an*  ride  'em  like 
es  ef  dey  wah  ho'ses."  1 

His  quick  ear  caught  a  familiar  sound,  the  breaking 
of  brush,  caused  by  the  motion  of  an  animal  in  a 
briar  patch.  A  smile  broke  over  his  face  and  he  joy 
ously  called  out,  "  Come  heah,  Dgawge !  "  and  the 
dog's  cold  nose  soon  touched  his  hand  and  his  side 
rubbed  against  the  negro's  leg.  Reaching  his  hand  into 
his  pocket,  the  slave  took  therefrom  a  roll  of  twine  ; 
one  end  of  the  string  he  tied  about  the  neck  of  the  dog, 
the  other  he  held  in  his  hand.  "  Keep  in  de  paff  an'  go 
home,  yo'  fool  !  "  ordered  the  master,  and  together  man 
and  dog  moved  onward.  u  Dis  am  a  monstrous  shame 
t'  any  nigger,  an'  t*  t'ink  dat  Cupe  should  ebah  feel  de 
disgrace  ob  such  a  ting  es  dis.  Et  am  lucky  dat  et  am 
night,  fo'  de  shame  am  moah  dan  Cupe  could  bear  in 
daylight.  But  de  dawg  caint  tole  nobody,  an'  nobody 
but  de  dawg  am  heah  t'  see  de  shame  ob  de  nigger.  Et 
am  a  monstrous  shame,  an'  et  am  a  fearful  sign  ;  de 
Lawd  only  knows  de  meanin'  ob  sech  a  sign." 


1  If  the  old  negroes  did  not  believe  that  to  wear  a  coat  wrong  side 
out  would  protect  them  from  the  "  Jack  o'  Lantern  "  they  affected 
as  much.  They  also  affected  to  believe  that  the  negro  caught  by 
one  would  be  riddem  until  morning. 


203 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    SPIRITS    AFFECT    DINAH 

STEP  by  step  these  companions,  the  faithful  brute 
and  the  bonded  slave,  had  journeyed  from  String- 
town,  until  now  the  dog's  nose  was  prone  against  the 
front  door  of  the  cabin,  which  Cupe  could  not  see. 
u  Dah  hab  be'n  f 'mil'ar  signs  'long  de  paff,  but  de  dawg 
caint  talk  an'  de  da'kness  ob  night  am  cubbahin'  de  way. 
Dah  wah  a  roun'  rail  on  de  las'  fence  we  climbed,  et 
wah  suah  de  fence  what  once  stood  befo'  de  cabin,  but 
dah  ain't  no  cabin  heah.  Ef  de  ebil  sperrits  hab  mobed 
dat  fence  an'  bent  dat  paff  t'  fool  de  ole  man,  dah  am 
trouble  befo'  his  steps,  an'  he  mus'  move  monstrous 
keerful.  De  debbil  may  be  restin'  at  de  end  ob  dis  walk. 
An'  de  dawg  won't  move  no  moah.  Et  am  de  fust  time 
dat  dawg  hab  gone  back  on  his  ma'se.  Go  home, 
Dgawge  Wash'n't'n  !  "  A  jerk  at  the  string,  and  the 
dog  in  reply  bayed  long,  tremulously,  and  stood  still,  his 
nose  close  against  the  cabin  door.  "  Et  am  a  painful 
howl  yo'  am  makin',  Dgawge.  I  hab  nebbah  hea'd  sech 
talk  befor'.  De  voice  yo'  speak  when  yo'  tree  de  coon, 
de  'possum  er  de  rabbet  am  plain,  but  Cupe  nebbah 
hea'd  yo'  talk  befo'  like  dis.  What  yo'  see  t'  make 
sech  talk  es  dat  ?  An'  only  t'  t'ink  ob  de  shame  ob  de 
nigger."  Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  snuffed  the  air, 
and  dropped  the  string.  u  Et  am  t'back,  et  am  de  han' 
ob  backey  what  hang  'side  de  cabin  doah.  De  smell  am 
not  t'  be  mistook'n."  Again  he  snuffed  the  air.  "Et 

204 


The  Spirits  affect  Dinah 

am  de  cabin  yo'  hab  treed,  Dgawge ;  yo'  nebbah  treed 
de  cabin  befo',  an'  dat  es  why  yo'  talk  so  strange.'* 
Reaching  out  his  hand,  the  door  was  found,  and  Cupe 
at  once  gave  a  loud  rap.  There  was  no  response. 
Again  he  knocked,  with  no  better  result.  Cupe  slowly 
moved  his  fingers  over  the  door.  The  latch  string  hung 
out.  "  Befo'  de  Lawd,  an'  what  am  de  mattah  wid 
Dinah  !  "  Opening  the  door,  he  groped  about  inside, 
reached  the  mantelpiece,  struck  a  match,  and  lighted  the 
candle.  The  child  lay  asleep  on  the  little  bed.  Dinah, 
with  head  thrown  back  so  that  it  rested  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed,  lay  sprawled  upon  the  floor. 

"  By  de  bones  ob  my  gran'pap  !  " 

No  other  word  did  Cupe  utter,  —  that  unusual  expres 
sion,  a  relic  of  his  old  master,  expressed  the  depth  of  his 
surprise.  Stepping  to  the  prostrate  form,  he  held  the 
candle  before  the  sleeper's  lips ;  the  flame  leaned  out 
ward  ;  breath  was  there.  Raising  it  slightly,  he  moved 
the  light  back  and  forth  before  her  eyes.  No  move 
ment.  "  Et  am  monstrous  strange,"  he  muttered. 
Kneeling,  he  placed  his  nose  close  to  her  lips,  and  at 
once  a  scowl  spread  over  his  black  face.  "  De  cause 
am  cleah  ef  de  night  am  da'k."  Cupe  stepped  to  the 
mantelpiece,  and  grasping  the  bottle,  held  it  before  the 
light.  "  De  cause  am  not  so  cleah,"  he  mumbled,  as  he 
saw  that  the  surface  of  the  liquid  marked  the  exact  spot 
where  he  had  left  it.  Shaking  his  head,  the  old  negro 
uncorked  the  bottle  and  raised  it  to  his  nose  :  "  Et  am 
Jickah."  He  thrust  the  neck  into  his  mouth,  his  flabby 
lips  sucked  about  the  shoulder  of  the  bottle,  gurgle  after 
gurgle  followed,  and  when  he  replaced  the  flask  more 
than  half  the  contents  had  disappeared,  u  Et  am  a 
shame,"  he  muttered,  "  et  am  a  shame  dat  a  gem'n 
mus*  swallah  so  much  watah  fo'  so  little  lickah." 

205 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Grasping  Dinah  by  the  shoulders,  Cupe  gave  her  a 
violent  jerk,  which  raised  her  fairly  upon  her  feet ;  and 
as  she  opened  her  eyes,  he  thrust  the  woman  upon  a 
wooden-bottomed  chair  with  a  shock  that  brought  her  to 
consciousness.  Standing  before  her,  Cupe  shook  his  fist 
close  to  her  face  and  said,  in  a  deep,  dramatic  tone : 

"  Dah  am  direful  signs  t'-night ;  dey  come  from  in  de 
cabin  an'  out  ob  de  cabin,  from  de  air  an*  from  de  earf." 

Dinah,  dazed  and  drowsy,  only  stared  back  at  the  old 
man,  who  continued :  u  De  signs  am  t'ickenin'  an' 
pintin',  but  de  debbil  only  knows  wheddah  de  end  am 
good  er  bad." 

Still  no  reply. 

"  But  de  signs  am  not  so  worryin'  es  de  nigger's  dis 
grace." 

44  What  disgrace  ?  "  queried  Dinah,  rubbing  her  eyes. 

"  Dah  hab  be'n  double  disgrace  on  Cupe  dis  night." 

"  What  done  disgrace  yo'  ?  " 

44  Cupe  hab  <1ueered  hisse'f,  fo'  he  hab  be'n  los',  an* 
yo'  hab  brung  disgrace  t'  him  too." 

u  Dah  hab  be'n  no  disgrace  ob  yoah  wife,  ef  yo'  hab 
be'n  los',"  retorted  Dinah,  with  offended  dignity. 

14  Dah  hab  be'n  two  disgraces  ob  Dinah.  Yo'  hab 
be'n  drunk,  an'  yo'  hab  stol'n  lickah.  Dah  am  no  wus- 
sah  a  sin  dan  t'  steal  lickah." 

44  Befo'  God,  Cupe  Hardman,  dis  nigger  hab  n't  seed 
ner  teched  a  drop  ob  lickah  fo'  a  yeah  !  " 

"  An'  dah  am  now  anuddah  disgrace,  fo'  yo'  hab  tole 
a  lie.  De  debbil  hab  got  yo,'  suah." 

44  De  bottle  am  jes'  es  yo'  lef '  et,  Cupe  Hardman  ;  et 
am  on  de  mantelpiece  an'  am  full."  She  turned  her  eyes 
to  the  vial,  and  was  startled  to  find  it  half  emptied. 

u  De  bottle  am  'witched ;  et  wah  full  t'  de  line,"  she 
added. 

206 


The  Spirits  affect  Dinah 

Cupe  held  up  his  hand,  motioning  her  to  cease  speak 
ing,  but  the  alarmed  woman  continued  : 

u  De  ebil  sperrits  am  in  de  house,  dey  hab  be'n  in  et 
all  day.  When  Dinah  heat  de  graby  in  de  skillet  an* 
poah  de  watah  out  ob  de  cup  into  et,  de  skillet  fly  into 
pieces.  De  debbil  broke  dat  skillet,  suah." 

u  Yo'  wah  drunk,  yo'  fool,  an'  dreamed  yo'  poahed 
watah  into  de  skillet,  but  yo'  poahed  et  into  de  bottle. 
Yo'  drunk  a  gill  ob  whiskey,  an'  den  yo'  fill  de  bottle  up 
wid  watah,  an'  hab  be'n  dreamin'  like  a  drunken  nigger 
dreams.  De  debbil  '11  git  yo'  lyin'  soul."  Dinah 
pointed  to  the  hearth,  where  fragments  of  the  vessel 
were  scattered.  "  Do  de  dream  bre'k  a  skillet  ?  " 

Cupe,  more  disturbed  by  the  evidence  of  the  broken 
skillet  than  he  cared  to  admit,  said  solemnly  :  "  Yo'  hab 
be'n  pow'ful  wicked.  Yo'  know  yo'  drunk  de  lickah." 

"  An'  what  ef  I  did  took  a  drop,  yo'  hain't  no  cause 
t'  jaw.  Yo'  bettah  clean  yoah  own  toof  befo*  jo*  pick 
Dinah's." 

"  What  yo'  mean  t'  'sinuate  ?  " 

a  Wha'  yoah  million  patch,  Cupe  Hardman  ?  " 

«  What  yo'  talkin'  'bout  ?  " 

"  De  night  de  fust  singer  sit  in  de  tree  an*  sing,  six 
weeks  ago  t'-morrah  night,  yo'  slip  out  ob  de  cabin  an'  wah 
gone  'bout  an  hour.  Yo'  come  back  wid  two  watah- 
millions  in  de  meal  sack  'cross  yoah  shoulders." 

u  De  cause  am  easy  t'  'splain." 

"  Yo'  got  no  million  patch,  yo'  stealin'  nigger." 

"  I  tole  yo'  de  cause  am  easy  t'  'splain.  De  million 
yo'  foun'  in  one  en'  ob  de  sack  wah  growin'  cross  de 
paff,  an'  Cupe  jes  ease  de  pafF,  fo'  feah  et  hurt  some 
fellah's  foot." 

"  But  de  uddah  million." 

u  De  sack  wah  lop-sided  den,  an*  Cupe  could  n't 
207 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

carry  et.  Et  wah  a  sin  t'  waste  de  fruit,  so  he  go  back 
an'  eben  de  weight  by  slippin'  ets  mate  from  jes  inside 
de  fence  an'  put  et  into  de  uddah  end." 

"  Bettah  yo'  say  nuffin  'bout  de  drop  ob  lickah,  Cupe. 
Et  wah  pow'ful  sweet  t'  de  taste,  an'  so  wah  de  millions. 
Dinah  taste  em  bof,  an'  am  gollified  t'  speak." 

"  Dinah,  fo'  de  sake  ob  de  smoove  argyment  yo'  make, 
dah  will  be  fergibness  dis  once,  but  ef  ebah  yo'  does  sech 
a  ting  ag'in,  so  suah  es  my  name  es  Cupe  Hardman 
I  '11  sole  yo'  down  Souf." 

"  Yo  '11  sole  me  Souf,  yo'  nigger !  yo'  bettah  own 
yo'selb  befo'  yo'  talk  'bout  solin'  uddah  fo'ks  !  " 

"  Dinah,  yo'  am  in  my  pocket.  I  bought  an'  paid  fo' 
yo'  t'-night,  an'  ef  ebah  yo'  disgrace  yoah  owner  ag'in 
es  yo'  hab  dis  night,  yo'  bettah  look  out,  fo'  de  tramp  t' 
Georgy  am  sahtin  suah." 

"  An'  hab  yo'  bought  yo'selb  too  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

u  De  Lawd  be  praised,  Cupe  !  I  know  yo'  hab  be'n 
sabin'  money  fo'  fifty  yeahs,  an'  I  know  yo  '11  use  et 
when  de  time  come.  Ef  we  am  free  niggers,  we  kin 
walk  t'  Canerdy  in  de  daylight." 

"  Et  am  de  sacred  truff,  Dinah ;  yo'  hab  got  sense 
nuff  t'  see  in  de  daytime,  ef  yo'  am  a  woman.  A 
woman  am  like  a  dish-rag,  Dinah,  she  am  monstrous 
convenient  in  her  place,  but  ef  she  git  out  ob  et  she 
ain't  wuff  nuffin  t'  nobody.  Doan  yo'  fergit  yoah  place, 
Dinah." 

This  diversion  changed  the  current  of  Cupe's 
thoughts,  and  he  dropped  at  once  the  subject  of  Dinah's 
failings  and  recurred  to  his  personal  misadventure. 

"  Dah  wah  'nuddah  sign,  an'  et  wah  a  disgrace  t* 
Cupe.  His  eyes  wah  los'  t'-night,  an'  de  nigger  had  t' 
tie  hisse'f  t'  de  dawg  t'  fin'  de  cabin." 

208 


The  Spirits  affect  Dinah 

"  Wah  yo'  drunk  ?  "     The  wife's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Et  wah  sperrits  suah,  but  ebil  sperrits,  not  lickah, 
an'  de  en'  am  not  yet." 

"  P'raps  de  same  ebil  sperrits  shet  yoah  eyes,  Cupe, 
what  take  de  lickah  out  ob  de  bottle  t'  git  Dinah  into 
trouble." 

"  Zacly,"  said  Cupe  ironically ;  "  but  yo'  bettah  be 
keerful  dey  doan  do  et  ag'in.  De  bodin'  signs  am 
thick'nin'  up.  Keep  yoah  eyes  peeled,  an'  be  ready,  fo' 
ef  de  workin'  ob  de  sign  am  ebil,  de  cabin  doah  '11  close, 
an*  yo  '11  staht  wid  Cupe  fo'  de  Norf  in  de  night-time." 


209 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

OLD    JEW    MOSE    AND    SAMMY    DREW 

THAT  night  I  sat  in  our  home  by  my  mother'^ 
side,  brooding  over  the  humiliations  my  apparent 
dullness  daily  brought  upon  me  at  the  Stringtown  school. 
Hitherto  I  had  borne  the  stigma  in  dumb,  indifferent, 
careless  fashion,  but  as  perceptions  quickened,  my  short 
comings  that  had  long  been  manifest  to  others,  suddenly 
flashed  into  mental  view.  Shame  reddened  my  brown 
cheek,  and  realizing  that  the  Stringtown  school  was  no 
longer  the  place  for  me,  I  implored  my  mother  to  allow 
me  to  seek  instruction  elsewhere.  Never  in  Stringtown 
could  I  win  the  respect  of  my  comrades  nor  of  myself,  nor 
regain  the  ground  that  had  been  lost.  That  distasteful 
front  row  at  school,  where  I  sat  among  the  little  boys, 
—  the  hateful  scene,  daily  enacted,  left  an  indelible  im 
pression  upon  me,  and  all  these  humiliations  were  vivid 
at  this  moment.  At  last  it  became  impossible  to  restrain 
my  grief  and  I  cried  in  despair,  "  I  cannot  go  back,  I 
cannot,  I  cannot !  " 

u  But,"  pleaded  my  mother,  "  we  are  very  poor.  By 
close  economy  we  can  live  here  where  we  own  the  little 
home  your  father  left  us ;  elsewhere  we  would  starve. 
God  has  blessed  us  with  health ;  for  this  be  thankful,  we 
cannot  ask  him  for  wealth."  Tears  streaked  their  way 
down  my  cheeks,  but  under  the  soothing  tones  of  my 
mother's  voice  the  gush  of  grief  had  given  place  to  a 
mood  of  seriousness. 

At  this  point  in  our  conference  a  knock  interrupted 
210 


Old  Jew  Mose  and  Sammy  Drew 

the  scene,  and  when  I  opened  the  door  Mose  the  Jew 
entered.  His  smiling  face  gleamed  in  the  lamplight,  and 
by  invitation  he  seated  himself  at  my  side. 

Mose  was  dressed  in  his  holiday  garments,  and,  per 
haps  in  order  to  suppress  our  curiosity  on  that  account, 
he  told  us  that  he  was  returning  from  the  city.  Once 
a  year,  every  September,  Felix  Moses,  in  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  met  in  religious  ceremony  with  his  own  people 
in  Cincinnati.  But,  so  far  as  we  knew,  until  the  next 
fall  he  did  not  again  seek  the  house  wherein  his  kinsmen 
worshipped.  On  his  return  from  the  present  trip  he 
had  sought  our  home ;  and  so  unusual  was  it  for  him  to 
visit  a  townsman  except  on  business,  as  to  cause  both 
my  mother  and  myself  secretly  to  wonder.  Divining 
our  thoughts,  Mose  soon  enlightened  and  likewise 
amazed  us. 

"To-morrovr  night  I  shall  start  to  join  the  rebel 
army." 

"  You,  Mose  ?  "  exclaimed  mother. 

"  Yes.  I  have  sold  my  horse  and  wagon,  collected 
my  accounts,  bought  a  young  horse  and  outfit,  and  six 
of  us  start  South  to-morrow  night." 

u  You  are  neither  young  nor  a  fighting  man  and  your 
people  do  not  love  war." 

"  I  am  of  the  tribe  of  Judah.  My  people  love  peace, 
but  have  taken  part  in  war  since  the  beginning  of  his 
tory.  Our  wealth  has  contributed  to  the  maintenance 
of  the  cause  of  all  nations  and  our  bones  have  whitened 
the  battlefields  of  every  land,  ancient  and  modern." 

"  But  this  war  is  not  of  the  Jews'  making." 

u  We  are  at  home  in  all  countries,  and  the  Jew  makes 
sacrifices  for  the  right  as  he  sees  it." 

"  Your  people  are  mostly  in  favour  of  the  North ;  do 
any  of  your  Jew  friends  champion  the  South?" 

211 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

tt  Old  Man  Nordman  has  a  son  in  each  army  ;  who 
can  say  which  son  is  in  the  wrong  ?  " 

Evidently  the  man  had  considered  the  subject  from 
every  side.  He  rose  to  depart  —  held  out  his  hand  — 
and  as  he  did  so,  took  from  his  coat  pocket  a  package 
and  handed  it  to  mother,  saying  —  "  Your  child  has  no 
longer  a  father,"  he  said  sadly.  u  I  know  that  you  built 
great  hopes  on  the  money  that  was  to  come  to  you  by 
the  will  of  the  Corn  Bug.  But  that  is  lost.  I  have  no 
use  for  money  now,  I  may  never  return,  and  if  I  do  I 
can  begin  anew.  Use  the  money  you  find  in  this  pack 
age  to  educate  the  boy." 

Some  spot  in  every  life  is  sacred  ;  neither  pen  nor 
tongue  should  touch  the  arcanum  that  lies  in  some  of 
these  depths. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE    VILLAGE    CIRCLE    OF    STRINGTOWN 

A  CLEAR  sunset  ushered  in  the  next  night,  the 
evening  that  brought  the  first  frost  of  the  season. 
Mist  and  cloud  were  brushed  away  by  a  wind  from  the 
north,  which  left  the  air  sparkling  and  crisp.  The 
voices  of  the  green-winged  singers  that  for  six  weeks  had 
joyously  chirped  in  tree  and  shrub,  and  their  relatives, 
the  katydids,  that  during  the  summer  had  called  and 
answered  each  other,  were  hushed.  No  rustling  leaves, 
no  cry  of  insect,  no  motion  of  bush,  broke  the  still, 
crisp  night.  Great  was  this  contrast  to  the  shrieking 
blast,  the  banging  shutters,  the  creaking  sign  and  the 
beating  sleet,  that  rang  their  changes  when  our  Tillage 
circle  had  met,  ten  months  ago. 

The  quiet  air,  penetratingly  cold,  spoke  of  frost  and 
foretold  that  slivers  of  ice  before  morning  would  surely 
form  in  the  shallows  of  exposed  hoof-tracks.  For  weeks 
the  swallows  had  been  flocking  in  the  meadows.  Their 
noisy  chirps  but  the  day  before  had  sounded  in  the  ear 
of  the  passer-by.  Gathering  from  their  nesting  places, 
these  glossy  songsters  during  the  summer  had  collected 
into  great  flocks.  The  tops  of  the  dead  trees  about  the 
meadow  pond  of  Mr.  Nordman  were  black  with  their 
glittering  forms.  Never  before  had  they  seemed  so 
noisy.  But  when  next  morning  broke,  the  upstretched 
branches  were  bare,  the  field  was  deserted.  Buried  in 
the  cloud  depths  above  and  out  of  sight  of  man,  they 

213 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

had    risen    in    the    night  and    turned  their  eyes  to  the 
South. 

As  a  rule,  few  stars  could  be  seen  of  a  summer  even 
ing  through  the  heavy-laden  atmosphere.  But  now, 
responsive  to  the  crisp,  transparent  night,  numbers  of 
tiny  points  sprang  into  view  and  twinkled.  The  star- 
built  sickle,  which  during  the  early  part  of  June  crossed 
the  meridian  in  the  evening's  twilight,  now  had  sunk 
below  the  western  horizon.  The  Great  Dipper,  which 
during  the  early  summer  evenings  had  balanced  itself  over 
the  meridian's  line,  the  bowl  west,  the  handle  east  of  it 
now,  low  in  the  north,  hung  just  above  the  earth's  edge 
The  milkmaid's  path,  which  in  June  had  started  from 
the  northwest,  marked  its  way  close  to  the  eastern  hori 
zon,  to  slope  down  and  disappear  in  the  southeast,  was 
now  a  broad,  white  band  overhead,  extending  across  the 
sky  from  the  northeast  to  the  southwest. 

One  by  one  the  members  of  the  Circle  "  dropped  " 
into  place  that  frosty  Saturday  evening,  until,  when  the 
lamps  were  lighted,  most  of  the  inverted  nail  kegs  upon 
which  the  villagers  seated  themselves  were  occupied. 
The  clerk,  Mr.  Wagner,  sat  in  his  mutilated  chair; 
Judge  Elford  balanced  himself  upon  his  one-legged  seat, 
and  Professor  Drake,  book  in  hand,  sat  on  his  bookcase 
high  stool,  beneath  the  lamp. 

But  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  stove-pipe,  Cupe 
slipped  quietly  early  in  the  evening,  and  stood  in  the 
corner.  Whenever  the  door  opened  he  was  screened 
from  sight,  but  his  willing  hand  closed  the  door  after 
each  newcomer.  Down  the  aisle,  before  the  counter, 
stretched  the  only  vacant  strip  of  floor  unbroken  by 
stool,  keg  or  other  obstacle.  It  was  the  reserved  spot 
where  stood  the  grocer's  patrons  while  their  packages 
of  tea,  sugar  and  other  trifling  purchases  were  being 

214 


The  Village  Circle  of  Stringtown 

wrapped.  Recognising  the  business  right  of  the  pro 
prietor,  the  circle  invariably  reserved  this  space  for  his 
convenience. 

Suddenly  when  there  was  a  pause  in  the  talk  the 
quiet,  frost-breeding  air  brought  to  our  ear  the  click  of 
metal  striking  against  stone.  At  the  sound  all  listened 
with  raised  heads.  Cupe  softly  turned  the  knob  and 
opened  the  door  slightly,  lapping  his  ear  over  the  edge. 
They  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  soon  the  clatter  of  many 
hoofs  beating  the  stones  of  Stringtown  pike  came 
through  the  still  night  air.  Only  one  word  was 
spoken  :  "  Yankees"  The  grocer  stepped  to  where  I 
sat,  grabbed  the  armoured  saddle,  dragged  it  from  be 
neath  me  and  thrust  it  hastily  into  an  empty  salt  barrel, 
which  he  inverted  and  rolled  beside  Cupe,  after  which 
act  he  quickly  lifted  me  to  a  seat  on  its  head.  A  pile  of 
bundled  garments,  blankets,  canteens,  belts  and  other 
accoutrements  on  an  exposed  shelf  was  hastily  seized  in 
willing  hands  and  stuffed  as  unceremoniously  into  the 
empty  nail-keg  seats  from  which  each  man  arose. 
Quickly  all  the  contraband  articles  were  concealed  and 
the  kegs  again  inverted.  Every  man  now  sat  silent  in 
his  accustomed  place.  Only  the  old  negro  had  been 
deliberate ;  it  was  he  who  deftly  concealed  a  contribution 
from  our  Stringtown  girls,  a  package  that  contained  a 
satin  banner  stitched  by  loving  fingers.  White  ground 
work  in  one  corner  of  that  folded  flag  was  starred  in 
blue  and  the  banner  was  embellished  with  three  broad 
stripes,  a  white  one  bounded  by  two  red  bars.  The 
emblem  had  previously  been  wrapped  in  rubber  cloth, 
and  Cupe  thrust  it  carefully  into  a  capacious  pocket. 
As  the  grocer  handed  the  flag  to  the  negro  he  remarked: 
"  The  Yankees  '11  not  sarch  a  nigger." 

In  a  few  moments  the  door  opened,  and  the  Red-Head 
21$ 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Boy  of  Nordman  entered.  He  shot  quick  glances  about 
the  room,  then,  as  unconcerned  as  the  other  occupants 
seemed  to  be,  stepped  to  the  counter,  asked  the  grocer 
for  five  cents*  worth  of  raisins,  making  a  face  as  he  did 
so  at  me  as  I  sat  on  the  barrel,  and  I  viciously  mouthed 
back  again.  Then  there  came  the  sound  of  rattling 
scabbards,  the  clash  of  metal  against  metal,  the  door 
opened  and  a  man  entered  dressed  in  blue.  He  was  an 
officer,  and  glanced  searchingly  around  until  his  gaze 
lighted  on  the  Red-Headed  Boy,  who  seemed  to  stare 
indifferently  back  at  him,  exactly  as  did  every  other 
member  of  the  circle. 

"  Evening,  friends,"  said  the  soldier, "  a  cool  night  this." 

"  Rather  fresh,"  replied  the  grocer. 

cc  How  far  is  it  to  Nordman's  pond  ?  " 

"  'Bout  half  a  mile."  Then,  pointing  to  the  boy,  the 
grocer  added,  "This  boy  lives  with  Mr.  Nordman." 

The  cavalryman's  quick  eye  surveyed  the  room  again  ; 
his  scrutiny  was  directed  successively  from  face  to  face  ; 
he  turned  his  attention  again  to  the  grocer,  who,  seem 
ingly  oblivious  to  the  inquisition,  stood  with  folded 
arms. 

"  Come  on,  sonny,"  the  soldier  said,  addressing  the 
boy,  "show  me  the  way  to  Nordman's  pond;  we  camp 
there  to-night.  Good-night,  friends." 

The  boy  followed  him,  but  as  he  passed  old  Cupe,  the 
negro  leaned  over,  and  putting  his  rubber  lips  close  to 
the  suspect's  ear  whispered  :  "  Yo'  bettah  look  out,  yo' 
sly  debbil,  yo'  am  spinnin'  de  fre'ds  ob  yoah  own 
shroud." 

Another  rattle  of  sabres  and  squeaking  of  leather,  a 
word  of  command,  a  tramp  of  horses'  feet,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  circle  of  men  within  the  room  again  sat  in 
silence. 

216 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

THE    LOVE    SONG    OF    THE    REBEL    SOLDIER 

QTEPPING  from  his  place  behind  the  door,  Cupe, 
^  evidently  anxious  to  leave  the  room,  addressed  Mr. 
Wagner :  "  An'  may  de  nigger  ax,  did  yo'  read  dem 
papahs  ?  " 

"Yes;  "  said  the  clerk  glancing  at  the  judge. 

"An*  hab  yo'  nuffin  t'  say?  " 

Again  the  clerk  glanced  at  the  judge,  and  slowly 
drawled  out,  "Not  now,"  emphasising  the  word 
"  now." 

"  An*  yo'  may  wait  too  long  ef  yo'  doan  look  out,'* 
mumbled  the  negro. 

Turning  to  Judge  Elford,  the  slave  asked  :  u  An'  hab 
yo'  anyt'ing  t'  say  t'  Cupe,  Ma'se  Jedge  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  judge,  sharply,  "  not  now  ;  "  and  he, 
too,  emphasised  the  word  "  now."  But  he  did  not  glance 
at  the  clerk. 

Bowing,  the  negro  seemed  inclined  to  ask  another 
question,  but  instead  stepped  back  to  his  place,  for.  at 
that  instant  there  came  a  second  interruption  from  with 
out.  Sounds  of  muffled  footsteps  in  the  dust  before  the 
grocery,  the  gentle  squeak  of  saddle  leather, — just  suffi 
cient  to  indicate  to  ears  familiar  with  the  sound  that 
mounted  men  were  cautiously  slipping  from  their  horses, 
—  and  then  whispering  voices  were  heard.  A  face  was 
now  pressed  against  the  glass  panel  in  the  door,  and  a 
pair  of  eyes  gazed  into  the  room.  More  than  one  hand 

217 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

sought  a  side  pocket ;  the  grocer  stepped  quickly  to  the 
rear  of  the  store,  turned,  and  in  the  gloom  stood  facing 
the  door,  with  a  bright  object  thrown  across  his  arm,  — 
an  object  that  glittered  in  the  faint  light. 

"  Hist !  "  he  whispered  ;  "  ef  et  es  a  raid,  we  have 
work  co  do."  And  then  a  double  tap  or  rap  was  struck 
upon  the  door,  a  rap  that  seemed  to  be  understood  by 
all,  for  the  grocer  dropped  his  gun  and  stepped  back  into 
the  light,  and  each  hand  was  withdrawn  from  the  pocket 
that  had  so  suddenly  encased  it.  The  door  opened,  and 
six  Stringtown  County  men,  two  of  whom  were  mem 
bers  of  the  village  circle,  came  into  the  room.  It  was 
evident  that  this  body  of  men  was  expected  by  some,  if 
not  all,  of  the  members  present,  but  the  raid  (for  we 
knew  full  well  the  unconcern  of  the  blue-coated  soldier 
was  assumed)  had  aroused  suspicion.  Even  Cupe,  as 
shown  by  his  secreting  the  Confederate  banner,  was  one 
of  the  initiated,  and  even  he  accepted  that  the  blue- 
coated  soldiers  had  slipped  back,  for  I  heard  him  mutter, 
"  Damn  dat  Red-Head  cuss  !  " 

The  nail  kegs  were  suddenly  inverted,  their  concealed 
contents  were  removed  and  parcelled  out  to  respective 
owners.  The  coats  of  the  intruders  were  thrown  open 
and  the  new  leather  belts  were  hastily  buckled  around 
each  waist.  The  grocer  produced  seven  pistols  from  an 
unseen  receptacle,  one  for  each  of  the  six-belted  holsters, 
the  seventh  being  laid  upon  the  counter.  A  blanket  roll 
was  then  taken  by  each  man,  who  quickly  stepped  to  his 
horse  and  strapped  the  roll  to  the  back  of  the  Mexican 
saddle,  and  then  returned  to  the  room  ;  where,  amid  a 
series  of  hand-shakings,  in  which  all  joined,  the  booted 
and  newly  armed  men  prepared  to  make  their  last  fare 
well  to  Stringtown  friends.  But  the  saddle  on  which  1 
sat,  still  hidden  in  the  inverted  salt  barrel,  lacked  an 

218 


Love  Song  of  the  Rebel  Soldier 

owner,  and  one  pistol  and  belt  lay  unclaimed  on  the 
counter.  A  whispered  consultation  was  held  by  the 
adventurous  volunteers,  who  were  preparing  for  a  peril 
ous  attempt  to  slip  through  the  Federal  lines  into  the 
South  to  join  the  Confederate  forces.  Evidently  these 
men  expected  a  companion  who  had  failed  to  appear,  and 
for  whom  they  were  restlessly  waiting. 

"  Comrades,  we  may  never  meet  around  the  old  stove 
again  ;  let  us  have  a  last  song  before  we  start,"  said  one 
of  them.  "  Let  it  be  to  our  sweethearts,  Captain." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  a  Southern  girl,  and  glory  in  the  name, 

I  boast  of  it  with  greater  pride  than  glittering  wealth  and  fame  j 
I  envy  not  the  Northern  girl  her  robes  of  beauty  rare, 
Though  diamonds  deck  her  snowy  neck  and  pearls  bespread  her 
hair. 

<k  Huzza!  huzza!  for  the  Southern  girl  so  fair, 

Huzza!  for  the  homespun  dress  the  Southern  ladies  wear. 

«'  Our  homespun  dress  is  plain,  I  know,  our  hats  palmetto  too, 
But  then  this  shows  what  Southern  girls  for  Southern  rights  can 

do. 

We  send  our  sweethearts  to  the  war,  but,  dear  girls,  never  mind, 
The  Southern  soldier  '11  not  forget  the  girl  he  left  behind. 

««  Huzza!  huzza!  for  the  Southern  girl  so  fair, 

Huzza!  for  the  homespun  dress  the  Southern  ladies  wear." 

When  the  song  was  ended,  it  was  thought  unwise  to 
linger,  but  just  as  they  were  about  to  depart,  the  man 
they  were  expecting  entered.  The  new-comer  was 
Mose  the  Jew.  His  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles,  those 
eternal  smiles,  and  a  familiar  chuckle  he  was  wont  to 
make  when  pleased  greeted  the  assembly  as  he  lifted  the 
saddle  and  carried  it  from  the  room.  Returning,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  belt  and  arm  himself  as  the  others  had  done. 
"The  flag  —  the  flag,"  said  the  club-footed  cavalier, 

219 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

a  we  must  not  forget  the  flag."  Old  Cupe  stepped  for 
ward  —  not  to  the  man  who  spoke,  but  to  Mose,  to 
whom  he  handed  the  rubber-bound  parcel.  Then  he 
turned  and  addressed  the  leader  :  "  Bettah  yo'  go  out  de 
Mt.  Carmel  pike  an'  cut  'roun'  de  county  co'ht-house 
an'  git  back  ter  de  Stringtown  pike  by  de  souf  road. 
Steer  cl'ar  ob  de  pond  ob  Ma'se  Nordman." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  another,  ua  squad  of  Union  cav 
alry  is  camping  in  the  pond-field." 

"  We  know  it,"  was  the  reply  ;  u  Mose  followed  them 
beyond  the  Campbellite  Church  and  has  just  returned." 

In  single  file  they  left  the  room,  Mose  bringing  up  the 
rear,  to  my  amazement  accompanied  by  my  chum,  the 
grocer's  boy,  who  as  he  passed  handed  me  the  key  to  his 
box  of  papers.  "  Take  them,"  said  he,  "  take  them 
home  with  you,  Sammy,  pictures,  short-hand  notes,  all ; 
if  I  get  back  from  the  war,  I'll  want  them,  if  not  —  " 
He  faltered,  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  he  held  out  his 
hand,  which  I  grasped.  Then  he  turned  and  ran  from 
the  room.  The  occupants  of  the  circle  crowded  close 
upon  the  retreating  forms,  and  soon  the  storeroom  was 
deserted.  The  squad  of  rebels  unhitched  their  horses, 
quietly  mounted  them  —  the  grocer's  boy  springing  up 
behind  the  Jew  —  and  then  they  turned  toward  the 
South.  Without  another  word  this  group  of  resolute 
men  and  the  chum  of  my  childhood,  whom  I  never  saw 
again,  started  in  a  brisk  trot  up  the  Stringtown  pike. 
And  I  recall  now  that  after  the  sound  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  died  away  in  the  distance,  we  who  lingered  outside 
the  grocery  caught  the  strain  of  a  song  from  afar  that 
seemed  almost  like  an  echo.  The  musical  voice  of  the 
rebel  captain  came  floating  to  our  ears,  bearing  a  couplet 
of  the  ode  he  had  sung  in  praise  of  the  Southern  girl,  the 
verse  in  which  occurred  the  lines  :  — 

220 


Love  Song  of  the  Rebel  Soldier 


"  We  send  our  sweethearts  to  the  war,  but,  dear  girls,  never  mind, 
The  Southern  soldier  '11  not  forget  the  girl  he  left  behind."" 

But  the  love  song  soon  died  away,  as  did  the  tramp  of 
the  horses.  The  bareheaded  watchers  stood  a  moment 
in  the  night  air,  then  re-entered  the  grocery,  the  broken 
sircle  formed  again,  and  each  man  sat  silent,  gazing  at 
the  stove. 

Then  occurred  a  curious  thing.  The  Red-Headed  Boy 
of  Nordman  had  returned,  and,  unperceived  by  me  at 
least,  had  entered  the  room  with  the  others,  but  appar 
ently  without  an  object,  and,  after  glancing  about,  he 
quietly  started  out  again.  As  he  passed,  Cupe,  reaching 
down  from  his  station  near  the  door,  caught  him  by  the 
ear  and  held  him  fast,  whispering  a  few  v/ords  as  he  did 
so. 

Turning  to  those  about  the  stove,  the  negro  asked 
Judge  Elford,  "An'  nab  yo'  nuffin  fo'  suah  t'  say  t' 
Cupe  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  De  signs  am  fulfillin'  demsel's  monstrous  fas',"  the 
negro  mumbled.  "Yo'  won't  fergit  t'  count  de  money 
in  de  desk  an'  read  de  papahs  befo'  de  Co'ht,  of  yocasion 
V^es  ?  " 

"  I  have  promised  to  do  so,"  replied  the  judge. 

Turning  to  Mr.  Wagner,  Cupe  asked,  "  An'  did  yo1 
read  de  writin'  I  lef '  yo'  las'  night  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  An'  caint  yo'  say  nuffin  t'  Cupe  ?  " 

«  Not  now,  Cupid." 

With  a  troubled  look,  old  Cupe,  leading  the  Red- 
Pleaded  Boy  by  the  ear,  left  the  grocery  and  passed  out 
into  the  starlight. 

22* 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

a  DINAH,    CUPE    MUS'    LEAVE    DE    CABIN  " 

THE  time  consumed  by  Cupe  and  his  prisoner  ;a 
reaching  the  cabin  was  not  sufficient  to  permit 
them  to  leisurely  walk  that  distance.  They  must  have 
run  part  of  the  way,  for  in  a  very  short  time  the  cabin 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  holding  the  boy  firmly  the 
negro  entered  the  room.  "  Brung  me  de  fox  trap  a  a* 
chain,  an'  de  chicken-house  lock,  an'  a  strap,  de  debbil 
am  t'  pay." 

Dinah  obeyed  ;  Cupe's  voice  evinced  his  suppressed 
excitement.  Forcing  the  captive  into  a  rustic  chair,  they 
bound  him  securely;  a  long  strap  was  wrapped  about 
both  the  chair  and  the  body  of  the  boy,  and  locked  by 
a  padlock  to  two  staples  that  for  some  other  purpose  had 
been  previously  driven  into  a  log  behind  him.  Thus 
the  boy  sat  with  his  back  against  the  wall ;  his  arms 
were  strapped  tightly  to  his  side,  but  his  head,  forearms 
and  hands  were  free.  Cupe  drew  the  table  close  to  his 
bound  victim's  knees  ;  the  boy's  hands  could  easily  move 
about  its  surface.  A  large  pan  of  water  containing  a 
dipper  was  placed  on  the  table,  a  liberal  supply  of  pro 
visions  was  thrust  alongside  it,  and  after  this  had  been 
done  Cupe  said  :  u  Yo'  am  likely  t'  want  fo'  comp'ny 
befo'  long,  yo'  East  Kaintuck  scrub,  an'  yo'  may  git 
hungry  befo'  de  comp'ny  calls.  Dah  am  grub  t'  eat  an* 
watah  t'  drink,  an*  while  yo'  wait,  vo'  kin  tell  yoah  story 
t'  yoah  ma'se,  de  debbil."  The  boy's  eyes  gleamed 
with  hatred,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

222 


"Cupe  mus'  leave  de  Cabin" 

Then  the  negro  turned  to  Dinah.  For  once  his 
method  of  addressing  her  exhibited  less  of  the  ruler  and 
more  of  the  companion.  The  affection  that  had  ever 
been  a  part  of  his  true  self,  but  which  was  generally 
masked  by  gruffhess,  now  crept  to  the  surface.  He  took 
her  hand,  led  her  to  the  fireplace  and  seated  her  in  a  low 
corn-shuck  chair  on  one  side  of  the  hearth,  himself  tak 
ing  a  similar  chair  opposite. 

"  Honey,"  he  said  slowly  and  tenderly,  "  de  min'  ob 
yoah  husban'  am  runnin'  back  t'-night —  back  t'  de 
days  ob  de  long  ago.  Dah  hab  be'n  joy  an'  sorrah  fo' 
de  heaht,  wa'm  an'  cole  fo'  de  flesh,  Dinah,  'twixt  de 
night  yo'  leP  yoah  home  on  Grassy  Creek  an*  now. 
Min'  yo'  de  ole  time,  Dinah  —  min'  yo'  de  time  when 
Cupe  came  rid  in'  dat  fust  Satuhday  night  t*  de  cabin 
doah  ? " 

"  I  min'  de  time,  Cupe." 

"  Yo'  wah  a  beauty  ob  a  wench,  Dinah,  yo'  wah  de 
flowah  ob  de  Ian'.  An'  well  do  Cupe  min'  dat  night, 
too.  Befo'  he  staht  fo'  de  trip  dat  Satuhday  ahftahnoon 
he  stan'  befo'  ole  ma'se  an'  say :  c  Dah  am  a  monstrous 
pritty  gearl  on  Grassy  Creek.'  An'  ole  ma'se  say  :  c  De 
fa'dah  away  de  bettah ;  et  am  well  she  am  no  closah 
dan  Grassy  Creek.'  An'  Cupe  ax  may  he  borrah  ole 
Prince  ?  an'  ma'se  cuss  an'  damn  de  wench  on  Grassy 
Creek,  but  Cupe  doan  say  nuffin ;  an'  when  ma'se  stop 
Cupe  jes  stan'  still,  fo'  while  de  ma'se  cuss  an*  sw'ar'  he 
doan  say  de  word  no. 

" '  What  fo'  yo'  stan'n'  dah  fo'  ? '  ax  ma'se. 

" '  Fo'  de  loan  ob  ole  Prince  t'  ride  t'  Grassy  Creek.' 

" c  Yo'  kin  go,'  say  ma'se,  c  but  min'  yo'  am  back  by 
foah  o'clock  Monday  mahn'n.'  An'  es  Cupe  staht  t' 
t'ank  him  fo'  de  kindness,  ma'se  say  :  c  Shet  yoah  mouf.* 
An'  den  Cupe  ax  :  c  What  'bout  de  pat-a-role  ?  ' 

223 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  An*  ma'se,  he  take  a  papah  out  ob  his  pocket  an' 
write  de  pass,  an'  say  :  c  De  pat-a-role  '11  gib  yoah  brack 
back  a  wa'min'  ef  yo'  ain't  home  by  foah  o'clock 
Monday  mahn'n.' 

"Min'  yo',  Dinah,  dat  Satuhday  night  ?  " 

Dinah  bowed  her  head. 

"  An'  min'  yo'  how  supple  Cupe  wah  den,  Dinah  ? " 

Again  she  nodded. 

"  Yoah  cabin  wah  down  in  de  hollah  jes  back  ob 
yoah  ma'se's  house,  Dinah,  an'  es  Cupe  ride  up  t'  de 
doah  yo'  step  t'  de  sill  —  et  wah  a  monstrous  good  sign, 
Dinah.  Yo'  wah  stan'n'  in  de  yard  befo'  de  doah,  an* 
Cupe  pull  up  de  ho'se  an'  look  down  an'  say  a  sof 
word,  an'  yo'  smile  up  in  his  face.  An'  Cupe  jes  git 
down  an'  stick  de  switch  he  hole  in  his  han'  in  de  sof 
earf  keerless  like  —  a  fool  nigger  who  am  in  lub  ain't 
got  no  sense  —  an'  he  take  de  bag  ob  cohn  off  Prince  an' 
stan'  et  'side  yoah  doah  an'  lead  Prince  t'  de  stable. 

"  Min'  yo'  dat  bag  ob  cohn,  Dinah  ?  " 

A  tear  ran  down  the  cheek  of  the  old  woman. 

u  Dah  wah  a  bluebird  on  a  pole  in  front  ob  yoah 
cabin,  an'  a  lady  bluebird  sat  in  de  little  doah  befo'  de 
nes'.  Jes  den  de  man  bird  wid  de  bright,  blue  coat  an* 
red  breast  come  from  out  de  air  an'  light  by  her  side ; 
an'  Cupe  pint  t'  de  cooin'  birds  an'  say  :  c  Dat  sign  am 
good.'  An'  yo'  make  no  ansah,  but  take  Cupe  by  de 
han'  an'  lead  him  into  de  cabin,  an'  he  sit  on  one  side  ob 
de  harf,  an'  yo'  sit  on  de  uddah.  But  we  two  niggers 
hab  no  need  fo'  fiah  dat  night,  Dinah. 

u  And  when  de  niggers  see  dat  bag  ob  cohn  stan'n'  by 
yoah  doah,  Dinah,  dey  pass  de  word  'roun' ;  dah 
wah  n't  no  buck  nigger  boddah  yo'  ag'in.  Eb'ry 
Satuhday  night,  when  Cupe  ax  fo'  de  pat-a-role  pass,  ole 
ma'se  growl,  an'  den  he  write  Cupe  de  pass,  an'  at  la*' 
dah  wah  a  wxlV.  224 


"Cupe  mus'  leave  de  Cabin'1 

tt  Min'  yo'  de  weepin'  willah  befo'  de  doah  ?  Et  wah 
de  bad  sign  ob  yoah  life,  Dinah,  an'  Cupe  wah  de  cause. 
De  switch  he  stick  in  de  groun'  wah  a  twig  ob  weepin' 
willah.  De  nex'  time  he  call  on  yo'  de  buds  had 
broken  ;  de  nex'  time  de  lebes  had  sprouted  ;  de  weepin' 
willah-tree  wah  planted  by  de  han'  ob  Cupe,  an'  de 
trouble  et  brought  wah  befo'  yoah  doah,  Dinah,  an' 
settlin'  obah  yoah  cabin.  Cupe  could  n't  say  nuffin,  but 
he  know  de  ebil  spell  wah  on ;  dah  am  no  way  t'  change 
dat  awful  willah-tree  sign.  Et  runs  fo'  fifty  yeah, 
Dinah.  An'  when  de  fust  chile  come  t'  smile  on  us,  de 
pure  little  blos'm  widout  any  tech  ob  white  —  eben  de 
sole  ob  de  feet  wah  not  white  —  yo'  wah  so  happy, 
Dinah,  an'  proud  ob  de  pure  nigger  blood  in  ets  brack 
cheek.  Den  Cupe  slip  out  an'  stan*  by  dat  willah  slip 
an'  pray  t'  all  de  gods  fo'  de  sign  t'  change.  But  et  wah 
no  use,  Dinah ;  de  little  blos'm  grew  big  'nuff  t'  creep  t' 
de  harf,  an'  den  et  close  ets  eyes  an'  pass  away." 

Dinah  sat  silent,  tear  after  tear  rolling  down  her  cheek. 

"  An'  'nuddah  chile  come,  an'  grow  up  t'  set  in  de 
doah,  but  de  shaddah  ob  de  willah  fall  an'  rubs  ets  life 
out.  Foah  blos'ms  what  come  t'  us  on  Grassy  Creek 
wah  blighted  by  dat  ebil  willah-tree  shaddah ;  dah  am 
foah  grabes  'bout  es  long  es  an  ax  handle,  side  by  side, 
in  de  ole  Grassy  Creek  grabeyard." 

Dinah   rocked  back  and    forth,  sighing  and   moaning. 

"  An'  den  Cupe  beg  ole  ma'se  t'  buy  yo',  Dinah,  an' 
brung  yo'  home,  an*  ma'se  say  yo'  wah  a  comely  nigger, 
an'  Grassy  Creek  wah  too  far  fo'  Cupe  t'  ride  ebr'y 
Satuhday  ebenin',  an'  he  buy  yo'  fo'  twelve  hund'd 
dollahs  an'  build  de  cabin  fo'  yoah  nes'.  But  et  wah  n't 
no  use,  de  ebil  sign  go  on. 

"  Min'  yo'  de  night  las'  week  when  Cupe  wah  gone 
from  sundown  till  mahn'n  ?  " 
1S  225 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"Yes." 

"  Dinah,  he  slip  back  t'  de  ole  cabin.  Dah  dat  deb* 
bilish  ole  tree  stan',  ets  limbs  wavin'  in  de  night  air. 
Cupe  step  t'  its  side  an'  cuss  et  in  de  moonlight.  De 
long  fingahs  move  in  de  wind  an'  rub  on  de  head  ob  de 
nigger,  but  Cupe  had  swo'  by  de  chillun  what  am  gone 
t'  kill  dat  tree  when  de  fifty  yeah  had  passed,  an'  et  wah 
fifty  yeah  when  de  sugah  watah  run  las'  spring.  An'  he 
took  his  ax  an'  chop  es  nebbah  he  chopped  befo'.  De 
chips  fly  like  lebes  in  wintah,  an*  de  ole  tree  tuhn  t'  one 
side  an*  fall  bump  on  de  groun'.  Den  Cupe  scattah 
salt  on  ets  stump  an'  put  his  foot  on  de  ole  debbil's 
back  an'  cuss  de  hoodoo  tree." 

Dinah  chuckled. 

"  Dah  hab  be'n  thirteen  blos'ms  t'  cheer  yo',  Dinah, 
sense  dat  switch  wah  sprouted,  an*  eb'ry  chile  es  brack 
es  Cupe.  Yo'  hain't  had  no  shame  t'  bury,  Dinah." 

Cupe  pointed  to  the  hearthstone  between  them. 

"  Dinah,"  he  asked,  "min'  yo'  de  fac'  dat  nebbah  hab 
two  chillun  sat  side  by  side  on  de  great  stone  ?  An' 
now  yoah  head  am  white,  yoah  face  am  wrinkled,  yoah 
han'  am  skinny  an'  yoah  toof  am  yallah.  Dah  am 
thirteen  little  grabes  —  foah  on  Grassy  Creek  an'  nine 
b'hin*  dis  cabin.  Et  am  a  hoodoo  numbah,  but  now  de 
ebil  spell  am  obah.  De  willah-tree  am  dead.  De 
missus  an'  all  de  ole  fren's  am  sleepin'  quiet ;  de  wicked 
ole  ma'se  am  walkin'  —  he  only  am  movin'  ob  all  de 
fo'ks  yo'  knew  when  yoah  cheek  wah  plump,  yoah  toof 
white  an*  yoah  skin  shiny." 

Dinah  was  sobbing  softly,  and  Cupe  fell  upon  his 
knees  on  the  spot  upon  the  hearth  to  which  he  had 
pointed,  and  took  her  hands  between  his  rough  palms, 
lovingly  stroking  the  bony  fingers. 

"  Dinah,  t'-night  Cupe  mus'  lebe  de  ole  cabin.  DC 
226 


"Cupe  mus'  leave  de  Cabin" 

signs  am  all  fulfilled,  de  fifty  yeah  ob  pain  am  passed, 
an'  we  two  niggers  am  free  from  de  willah-tree  spell. 
De  Susie  chile  only  am  lef  t'  pint  back  t'  de  sacred 
promise,  an'  t'  sabe  dat  chile,  an'  lib  up  t'  de  promise  we 
made  de  young  ma'se,  Cupe  mus'  lebe  de  ole  home." 

He  took  from  his  tattered  pocketbook  a  paper  that, 
although  he  could  not  read,  he  evidently  fully  compre 
hended,  and  held  it  out  to  his  wife  :  "  Yo'  may  stay  in 
de  cabin,  Dinah,  ef  yo'  wants  t'  stay,  an'  when  de 
mahn'n  comes  ef  yo  '11  take  dis  papah  t'  Ma'se  Elford, 
yo  '11  git  yoah  freedom  an'  kin  go  back  t'  yoah  ole  home 
on  Grassy  Creek,  de  cabin  wah'  yo'  stood  in  de  doah 
when  Cupe  ride  up  fifty  yeah  ago." 

"  An'  ef  I  doan  take  de  papah  ?  " 

"  Pack  yoah  duds  an'  bid  farewell  t'  de  Ian*  ob  yoah 
birf,  fo'  when  t'-morrah  sun  rise  Cupe  an'  Susie  '11  be 
down  in  de  Licking  Hills  wid  dere  faces  tu'ned  to'ard  de 
cole  Canerdy  Ian'." 

Again  he  held  out  the  paper.  "  Dinah,  will  yo'  go 
back  t'  de  ole  cabin  on  Grassy  Creek,  er  will  yo'  walk 
into  de  night  wid  Cupe  ?  " 

The  woman  pushed  back  the  paper  and  repeated  the 
vow  made  twice  before  :  "  De  Canerdy  Ian'  am  cole 
an'  de  grabes  ob  de  missus  an'  de  chillun  am  deah,  in 
ole  Kaintuck,  but  fo'  de  good  ob  de  Susie  chile  an'  de 
lub  ob  ole  Cupe,  Dinah  '11  close  de  cabin  doah  ferebah." 


227 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

RED-HEAD,    CAPTIVE 

IT  was  needless  for  them  to  consult  concerning  the 
next  step.  Their  conversation  had  often  been  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  prepare  both  for  the  course  they 
must  pursue  in  case  it  became  desirable  to  "run  away." 
Rapidly  they  moved  about  the  rough  room,  selecting  the 
various  articles  of  clothing  or  the  utensils  that  might 
prove  of  use  in  their  wanderings.  They  recognised  that 
little  could  be  carried,  and  consequently  few  household 
articles  aside  from  the  provisions  were  disturbed.  The 
only  exception  to  this  exacting  rule  proved  to  be  the 
garments  of  Susie,  for  these  were  all  neatly  packed  by 
Dinah  in  an  oilcloth  sack,  the  mouth  of  which  was 
closed  with  a  draw-string. 

The  captive  boy  sat  silent,  closely  watching  the  busy 
pair,  who,  upon  the  contrary,  seemed  to  give  him  no 
attention.  In  a  short  time  the  hasty  preparation  was 
made,  the  slaves  were  ready  to  start  for  Canada,  one 
with  a  basket,  the  other  with  a  bag.  Then  Cupe  turned 
to  the  bov,  and  standing  before  him  said  abruptly  : 

u  Yo'  am  a  debbil  from  the  mount'ns,  yo'  Red-Head 
cuss,  an'  hab  no  place  'mong  civil  fo'k.  Why  doan  yo' 
go  back  t'  yoah  pap  ?  " 

"  Can't,  yo'  old  nigger,"  the  boy  answered  insolently. 

"  Wha'  am  yoah  pap  ?  " 

«  Dead." 

228 


Red-Head,  Captive 

**  Yo'  bettah  go  back  t'  yoah  ma  when  yo'  git  loose." 

«  Dead." 

The  negro's  heart  gave  signs  of  relenting.  In  a  more 
kindly  voice  he  said  : 

"  Hab  yo'  no  bruddahs?  " 

«  One." 

"Yo'  bettah  go  t'  yoah  bruddah." 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"  Am  dah  a  reason  why  yo'  doan  go  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  am  de  cause  ?  " 

«  Dead." 

The  old  man  started  unconsciously;  then  he  lowered 
his  voice : 

u  An'  hab  yo'  no  sisterin,  chile  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  How  many  sisterin  ?  " 

"One." 

"  Caint  yo'  go  an'  lib  wid  de  gearl  ?  " 

Tears  moistened  the  eyes  of  the  captive  boy;  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  Ef  Cupe  '11  unlock  de  chain  an'  open  de  doah  will 
yo'  go  back  t'  de  mount'n  gearl  ? " 

Again  the  boy  shook  his  head. 

"Tole  us  de  reason,  chile;"  and  automatically  the 
slave  arranged  the  provisions  on  the  table  more  con 
veniently.  "  Tole  us  de  reason,  chile." 

"  Dead." 

The  man  stood  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  An*  hab  yo'  no  uddah  kin  but  Ma'se  Nordman  ? " 

"  No  other." 

"  Et  am  a  shame,  et  am  a  sin  an'  a  shame." 

"Whatr" 

w  Dat  yo'  hab  come  t'  Stringtown.  But  yo'  caint  help 
229 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

et,  yo'  am  mixed  in  de  sign  ;  "  then,  suddenly,  with  the 
word  u  sign  "  the  negro  changed  his  manner  of  expres 
sion.  That  word  brought  back  to  his  mind  the  fact  that 
the  boy  was  destined  to  work  evil  according  to  the 
"  sign."  The  superstitious  old  man  forgot  the  former 
softened  voice ;  no  touch  of  pity  was  left  in  his  heart ; 
his  tone  grew  harsh  again  :  "  Yo'  cub  ob  Satin,  an'  et 
wah  good  fo'  de  libin'  an'  no  hahm  t'  de  dead  ef  yo'  wah 
dead  too ;  "  and  he  turned  away. 

A  vicious  look  came  over  the  boy's  face,  he  clenched 
his  hand,  and  tried  to  shake  his  fist  at  the  speaker. 
Neither  spoke  again.  Susie,  ready  dressed  —  for  the 
child  had  not  been  disrobed  that  night  —  was  taken  from 
her  bed,  wrapped  in  a  woollen  shawl,  and,  still  asleep, 
was  gently  clasped  in  the  arms  of  the  man  ;  her  head 
rested  on  one  shoulder,  while  the  bag  of  clothing  de 
pended  by  a  strap  from  the  other. 

Dinah,  bearing  the  provisions,  as  if  determined  to 
make  good  her  thrice-told  promise,  opened  the  cabin 
door,  stepped  outside,  and  stood  ready  to  close  it.  But 
just  then  Cupe,  who,  too,  had  reached  the  door,  cried, 
"  Come  back,  Dinah  ;  dah  am  a  fren'  t'  go  wid  us, 
an'  a  fren'  t'  say  good-bye." 

He  laid  the  sleeping  child  on  the  bed,  and  stepping  to 
the  hearth,  raised  one  of  the  flat  stones,  taking  from  be 
neath  it  three  large  kidney-shaped  beans,  each  at  least 
an   inch   in  diameter.     These  he  put   into  his   pocket, 
addressing  them  as  he  did  so :  — 

u  Ef  de  time  ebah  comes  t'  act,  yo'  kin  do  yoah  work ; 
but  yoah  mouf  hab  be'n  long  shet  sense  yo'  grew  in  de 
hot  Guinee  Ian'.  An'  now  fo'  de  las'  word  from  de 
oldest  fren'  ob  all." 

He  took  his  fiddle  from  the  peg  and  raised  it  to  his 
shoulder  j  his  eyes  closed,  his  chin  dropped  until  it 

230 


Red-Head,  Captive 

touched    the    instrument,   and    then    his    expert  fingers 
touched  the   strings. 

Plaintive  was  the  melody  wafted  into  the  air  as  the 
unlettered  musician  drew  the  bow.  From  his  warm 
heart  came  the  pathetic  touch  that  vibrated  the  strings 
until  they  fairly  spoke.  He  played  only  one  air:  — 

'«  We'll  hunt  no  moah  fo'  de  'possum  an'  de  coon, 

On  de  meddah,  de  hill,  an'  de  shoah. 
We  '11  sing  no  moah  by  de  glimmah  ob  de  moon, 
On  de  bench  by  de  ole  cabin  doah. 

««  De  days  go  by  like  de  shaddah  on  de  heaht, 

Wid  sorrah  wha'  all  wah  so  bright, 
De  time  am  come  when  de  darkeys  hab  t'  part, 
Den  my  ole  Kentucky  home,  good-night." 

When  the  last  note  died  away,  the  child  was  taken  up 
again,  and  at  last  the  door  closed  behind  the  fugitives. 

But  now  Dinah  stopped.  She  lingered  with  bowed 
head  before  the  home  she  had  deserted.  Tears  coursed 
down  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  while  Cupe,  equally  affected, 
but  too  stoical  to  exhibit  his  emotion,  stood  by  her  side. 
The  old  woman  raised  her  hand  and,  pointing  to  the 
door,  her  finger  nearly  touching  it,  huskily  asked  : 

«  Min'  yo'  de  sign  ob  deff,  Cupe?  " 

"What  sign  ob  deff?  Dah  am  many  signs  ob 
deff?  " 

"  De  Bloody  Hollah  sign.  Doan  yo'  see  et  am  come 
true  ?  De  Red-Head  Boy  am  all  alone  in  de  cabin^  he  am 
sittin*  in  de  cheer  ob  Susie" 


231 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

RETURN    OF    THE    REFUGEES 

IN  the  autumn  of  1868,  several  years  later,  two  negroes 
accompanied   by   a   girl  about   eight   years  of  age, 
passed  down  the  west  side  of  Vine  Street,  Cincinnati. 

They  approached  the  Ohio  River  bank,  and  then 
stood  gazing  intently  on  the  Kentucky  shore.  Not  a 
word  had  been  spoken  since  they  first  caught  sight  of  the 
opposite  bank  of  the  river.  Their  quaint  attire  and 
strange  bearing  led  a  party  of  impudent  wharf  children 
to  collect  about  them.  Neither  of  the  negroes  who 
gazed  so  intently  across  the  river  noticed  the  group  of 
urchins  that  was  rapidly  increasing  in  number,  but  the 
child,  withdrawing  her  gaze  from  other  objects,  turned 
her  eyes  first  at  one  and  then  at  another  of  the  encircling 
party,  who  insolently  stared  back  again.  At  this  point 
the  carpet-bag  in  the  hand  of  the  old  man  was  loosened ; 
it  fell  upon  the  bouldered  street  and  rolled  upon  its  side, 
resting  partly  on  his  large  feet.  But  he  did  not  seem  to 
feel  its  weight.  Raising  his  arm,  he  pointed  to  the  green 
Kentucky  hills  in  the  distance,  but  did  not  speak.  A 
tear  rolled  down  the  cheek  of  his  companion,  the  old 
woman,  for  it  needed  but  this  action  to  cause  her  to  give 
way  to  suppressed  emotion.  She,  too,  dropped  her 
satchel  and  clasped  her  hands,  extending  them  toward 
the  hills  that  rose  beyond  the  city.  .  A  howl  of  derision 
now  came  from  the  throats  of  the  circle  of  children,  and 
a  mischievous  boy  suddenly  jumped  forward  and  grabbed 

232 


Return  of  the  Refugees 

the  fallen  sack.  The  girl  snatched  her  hands  from  th* 
grasp  of  the  negroes,  sprang  upon  the  bent  form  of  the 
rude  meddler,  threw  her  wiry  arms  about  his  neck,  and, 
with  a  display  of  unexpected  strength,  threw  him  to  the 
ground.  The  incident  broke  the  reverie  of  the  negroes, 
who,  moving  with  greater  suppleness  than  seemed  pos 
sible  to  persons  so  aged,  resumed  possession  of  both  the 
girl  and  the  bag  and  retraced  their  steps  to  Second  Street, 
turned  to  the  right,  and  sought  the  entrance  to  the  great 
new  suspension  bridge. 

An  hour  afterward  they  slowly  passed  along  Lexington 
Pike  in  the  outskirts  of  Covington,  and  subsequently 
tramped  up  the  long  two-and-a-half-mile  hill  beyond  the 
city  limits.  They  were  very  tired,  and  frequently 
stopped  to  rest  on  the  grassy  roadside,  when  the  child 
would  bury  her  head  in  the  lap  of  the  negress,  and  that 
she  closed  her  eyes  in  sleep  was  evident  from  the  effort 
it  required  to  arouse  her.  At  last  the  party  passed  over 
the  crest  of  the  hill  where  stood  the  toll-gate,  and  then 
they  moved  down  into  the  evening  shadows  that  now 
closed  rapidly  about  the  winding  road,  which  soon  sank 
into  a  ravine,  and  then  crept  deeper  still  in  order  to  de 
scend  by  easy  grade  into  the  valley  that  must  soon  be 
crossed.  To  the  left,  one  behind  the  other,  on  the  slope 
of  the  opposite  hill,  could  be  seen  ridges  of  earth  that 
even  in  the  shadows  were  yellow.  Behind  these  stretched 
trenches  deep  enough  to  shelter  armed  men  ;  once  they 
were  rifle-pits,  and  in  1862  commanded  the  pike ;  they 
overlooked  it  in  1868,  and,  nearly  obliterated  by  time, 
they  border  it  now.  But  unless  the  eight  graves  dug  in 
1862  near  the  crest  of  that  hill  are  yet  inviolate,  no  sol 
dier,  Blue  or  Grey,  holds  these  silent  redoubts.  On  be 
yond  the  trenches  into  deeper  shadows  plodded  the  three 
wanderers ;  the  road  curves,  the  rifle-pits  and  the  dark 

233 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

ravine  are  now  in  the  rear.  Looming  high  on  the  hill 
to  the  right  appears  at  this  point  old  Fort  Mitchell,  as 
silent  as  are  the  abandoned  yellow  trenches  ironically 
standing  guard  over  the  peaceful  valley.  But  the  aban 
doned  fort  disappears  too  behind  the  wearied  travellers, 
who  now  pass  into  the  broad  valley,  still  treading  the 
pike.  Thickets  on  either  side  spring  from  stumps 
where,  in  order  to  give  free  range  for  cannon  and  mus 
ket,  all  the  trees  were  felled  in  1862.  But  the  war  is 
over.  A  flock  of  sheep  is  resting  where  once  stood  a 
battery  of  brass  field-guns.  Fences  burned  for  camp- 
fires  have  been  replaced  by  new  ones ;  no  scattered 
cracker  boxes,  no  broken  army  wagons,  no  limping 
mules,  no  mark  of  tent  or  of  camp  litter  remain  in  the 
grassy  fields  bordering  the  road  where  a  few  years  pre 
viously  tens  of  thousands  of  armed  men  had  bivouacked. 
Gone  are  all  these,  —  the  glittering  guns,  the  caissons 
and  cannon,  the  army,  and  the  tramping  sentry. 

The  travellers  moved  more  slowly,  the  white  pike 
turned  grey  in  the  deepening  twilight,  the  grass-grown 
fields  changed  to  black,  and  the  foliage  beside  the  pike 
lost  its  colour.  Dusk  turned  to  night.  From  a  pond 
across  the  valley  came  the  cries  of  frogs,  some  deep  and 
guttural,  others  shrill,  and  yet  others,  unlike  either  croak 
or  chirp,  appeared  to  sound  in  harmony  with  the  com 
plaint  uttered  by  the  sombre  rain-crow.  From  a  clump 
of  bushes  nearby  a  rabbit  leaped  into  the  dust  of  the 
pike.  The  man  dropped  his  sack,  grasped  the  arm  of  the 
woman  tremblingly,  and  the  human  figures  stood  gazing 
at  the  tiny  form  at  their  feet.  The  wondering  rabbit 
stayed  but  a  moment,  then  swiftly  sped  across  the  road, 
and  disappeared  in  the  weeds. 

Without  a  word,  the  pilgrims  turned  and  retraced  their 
Steps,  dragging  their  coarse  shoes  wearily  in  the  deep 

234 


Return  of  the  Refugees 

dust  of  the  pike  back  to  the  silent  fort  that  could  no 
longer  be  seen  in  the  darkness.  As  they  entered  the 
shades  of  the  gloomy  hollow  the  cry  of  a  hoot-owl  broke 
upon  the  air;  coming  from  a  shrub  within  the  solitary 
fort,  now  on  their  left ;  then,  from  a  dead  beech-tree 
that  rises  above  the  graves  of  the  soldiers  behind  the 
rifle-pits  on  the  crest  of  the  other  hill,  sounded  the 
answering  cry  of  the  old  owl's  mate.  The  woman 
touched  the  man  on  his  left  shoulder,  and  he  turned  to 
catch  sight  of  the  tiny  crescent  moon  shining  through 
the  limbs  of  a  dead  shrub.  Again  the  old  woman 
touched  his  shoulder,  his  left  shoulder,  and  pointed  to 
the  brush-screened  new  moon. 

That  night  the  travellers  rested  with  a  negro  friend 
who  lived  in  Rat  Row,  and  the  next  morning  turned 
their  footsteps  down  the  Ohio  River.  They  tramped 
along  the  shore  by  easy  journey,  stopping  often  to  rest, 
never  at  a  loss  for  lodging  places,  until  they  reached  a 
point  opposite  Carrollton,  where  they  called  the  ferry 
man  and  crossed  the  river.  From  this  point  they  struck 
back  into  Kentucky,  following  the  road  that  parallels 
the  beautiful  and  picturesque  Kentucky  River  until 
Carrollton  was  left  far  in  the  rear.  Then  they  struck 
into  the  hills  and  moved  in  the  direction  of  Stringtown. 
« Et  wah  a  long  way  c  roun  ',"  said  Cupe,  "  but  de 
rabbet  knows  ets  bisness.  De  longes'  way  'roun'  am 
de  safes'  way  home  ef  de  rabbet  cross  de  paff." 


235 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

CUPE'S    PLEA    FOR    SUSIE'S    NAME 

ON  a  knoll  back  from  the  road  stood  a  colonial 
mansion,  an  hour's  ride  from  Stringtown.  Before 
it  stretched  a  woodland  pasture  that  gently  sloped  from 
the  house.  Great  sugar-maple  and  venerable  walnut 
trees  shaded  this  spacious  lawn,  which  was  artistically 
ornamented  by  clumps  of  yucca  and  groups  of  cedar^ 
pine,  and  juniper  trees.  A  picturesque  drive  led  from 
the  door  of  the  mansion,  down  the  slopes,  through  the 
grounds  to  the  front  gate.  A  dense  osage  orange  hedge 
bordered  the  opposite  side  of  the  road. 

In  an  easy-chair  on  the  porch  of  the  house  sat  a  grey- 
haired  man  ;  a  party  of  merry,  young  people  was  pre 
paring  to  enter  a  large  carryall  that  stood  on  the  drive 
before  the  porch.  Two  of  the  pleasure  seekers  —  young 
girls  —  kissed  the  man  and  said  :  "  Farewell  until  morn 
ing,  papa  !  "  Then  the  party  drove  down  the  avenue 
on  to  the  public  road  and  disappeared  from  sight.  The 
man  on  the  porch  in  the  sha<ie  of  the  trees  leaned  back 
in  his  easy-chair  and  watched  the  sun  go  down  ;  gently 
rocking,  he  puffed  a  cigar,  the  curling  smoke  of  which 
could  be  seen  by  one  with  good  eyes  from  the  distant 
hedge  bordering  the  street  and  extending  opposite  the 
mouth  of  the  avenue  that  led  to  the  house.  Three 
faces,  two  of  them  black,  the  other  white,  peered  through 
the  hedge  commanding  a  full  view  of  the  sor'-ary  figure 
on  the  porch.  Twilight  deepened,  and  from  the  log 

236 


Cupe's  Plea  for  Susie's  Name 

cabins  behind  the  house  came  another  vehicle,  a  spring 
wagon,  laden  with  negroes  dressed  in  gay-coloured,  holi 
day  attire.  The  three  figures  drew  back  at  their  ap 
proach  and  concealed  themselves  behind  the  thick  part 
of  the  hedge. 

The  wagon  passed  down  the  avenue,  turned  out  into 
the  road  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  Stringtown. 
The  man  on  the  porch,  the  sole  occupant  of  the 
deserted  house,  unconscious  of  their  watchful  eyes,  puffed 
his  cigar* 

Evening  drew  near ;  the  dew  and  the  shadows  of 
night  fell  together.  The  man  threw  the  stump  of  his 
cigar  into  the  lawn,  entered  the  house,  lighted  a  lamp 
and  without  drawing  the  curtain  seated  himself  at  a 
table  and  began  to  read  an  historical  record  of  Kentucky. 
Thus  he  sat  alone  until  deep  darkness  brooded  over  all 
things  without  the  house. 

Unrest  tormented  him.  Dropping  the  book  and 
lighting  a  cigar,  the  uneasy  watcher  threw  his  feet  upon 
the  arm  of  a  tall  chair,  dropped  his  head  upon  the  back 
of  the  rocker,  faced  the  window  and  gently  puffed  his 
cigar.  With  lips  pursed  together,  he  threw  a  thread  of 
white  smoke  into  the  room  and  dreamily  gazed  upon  it 
with  half-closed  eyes.  The  deep  blue  that  curled  up 
ward  from  the  tip  of  his  cigar  contrasted  sharply  with 
this  vapour-mixed  cloud.  The  circle  of  smoke  sped  to 
the  ceiling  and  shattered  itself  against  a  projecting 
decoration.  Another  ring,  moving  like  creeping  cotton, 
followed  the  first ;  trembling,  weaving,  seemingly  un 
decided  as  to  whether  it  should  move  up  or  down,  the 
phantom  balanced  itself  in  the  air,  then  collapsed  and 
disappeared.  A  third  followed  the  second  ;  softer, 
whiter,  more  perfect  than  the  others,  it  moved  upward 
more  gracefully.  The  thin  thread  of  blue  from  the  tip 

237 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

of  the  cigar  between  the  forefinger  and  thumb  of  the 
nicotine  dreamer  followed  this  retreating  circle;  it  thrust 
itself  into  the  centre  of  the  vortex  ring,  then  lapped  over 
it,  and  before  the  combination  burst  spread  as  a  revolv 
ing  sheath  from  above  its  upper  edge. 

Into  the  stillness  and  the  silence  passed  another  fairy 
ring ;  a  feather's  touch  would  have  crushed  it,  an  up 
starting  puff  of  air  would  have  been  fatal.  Slowly  this 
fifth  wreath  moved  upward ;  drawing  the  blue  thread 
from  the  cigar's  tip  into  its  depths,  it  balanced  itself 
exactly  in  the  torpid  air,  and  then,  just  before  collapsing, 
the  man  who  faced  it  saw  from  the  inner  circle,  where 
blue  and  white  mingled,  a  pair  of  eyes,  blue  eyes,  spring 
into  existence  and  gaze  down  into  his  own. 

The  hand  that  held  the  cigar  dropped,  but  the  man 
was  unconscious  of  the  movement;  his  mind  turned 
from  the  picture  above  to  a  scene  of  other  years,  when  a 
pair  of  living  eyes,  eyes  exactly  like  these,  gazed  be 
seechingly  into  his  own.  These  phantom  orbs  from  out 
the  burst  fairy  wreath  had  reflected  a  glimpse  of  other 
days.  Then  his  glance  dropped  to  the  night-black  win 
dow  ;  there,  set  in  a  face  of  darkness  quite  different 
from  the  blackness  about  it,  hung  two  white  eyes  that 
gazed  in  upon  him  who  dreamed  as  waking  men  some 
times  dream.  The  startled  watcher  turned  back  to  the 
sun-white  wreath  above  ;  it  had  vanished.  He  dropped 
his  glance  to  the  black  face  in  the  window  ;  the  eyes 
were  gone.  Not  a  word  did  he  utter,  but  grasping  the 
decanter  by  his  side,  turned  it  up  and  drank  deeply  of  the 
amber  liquid  ;  then,  as  if  to  test  the  correctness  of  his 
senses  or  to  face  the  spell  that  bound  him,  threw  his 
head  back,  gazed  intently  upward,  puffed  at  the  cigar, 
and  a  wreath  softer  than  a  cobweb  and  as  white  as  snow 
sprang  into  existence.  Floating  in  space  as  only  vortex 

233" 


Cupe's  Plea  for  Susie's  Name 

rings  can  float,  enlarging,  drawing  from  above  and 
below,  from  without  and  within,  growing  larger  and 
softer  and  purer  as  it  expanded,  this  thing  of  beauty, 
alive  to  the  sight,  but  dead  to  the  touch,  expanded  to 
the  size  of  a  child's  face;  then  from  out  its  depths  a 
portrait  from  the  past  sprang  again  into  life,  a  child's 
face,  a  baby  face  with  great,  beseeching  eyes.  Startled 
as  he  had  never  been  before,  the  man  shrank,  dropped 
his  cigar  upon  the  carpet,  and  his  gaze  fell  again  to  the 
window  ;  there,  close  against  the  glass,  gazing  in  upon 
him  intently,  as  had  the  wreath-face  from  above,  peered 
beseeching  eyes  like  those  he  had  just  seen.  That  same 
face  looked  upon  him  from  out  the  night ;  brightened  by 
the  lamplight,  set  in  the  frame  of  blackness,  this  implor 
ing  face  was  older,  sadder,  yet  identical  with  that  mind 
picture  framed  by  the  fairy  wreath. 

Springing  from  his  place,  the  man  threw  the  door 
wide  open  ;  for  a  time  the  darkness  blinded  him,  and  even 
when  he  pierced  the  depths  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  streaming  light  that  from  the  window  marked  its  way 
across  the  drive  and  into  the  clump  of  trees  beyond. 

He  slammed  the  door,  turned  the  key,  sprang  to  the 
window  and  pulled  down  the  Venetian  blind.  The 
slatted  shade  fell  to  its  place  almost  with  the  turn  of  the 
key,  so  rapidly  did  he  move,  but  simultaneously  with  its 
rustle  a  heavy  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  a  knock  that 
made  the  silent  house  echo.  Notwithstanding  the  expe 
riences  through  which  he  had  just  passed,  without  any 
hesitation  whatever  the  man  turned  the  key  and  again 
threw  open  the  door.  A  flood  of  light  streamed  across 
the  porch,  showing  three  figures,  one  a  child  that  stood 
in  front  of  the  open  way.  They  entered  without  invita 
tion  and  the  host  blurted  out  angrily  :  "  What  the  devil 
do  you  want  ?  " 

239 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  An'  hab  yo'  fb'got  de  ole  man,  Ma'se  ?  " 

«  What !    'Cupe  and  Dinah." 

"  An'  Susie,  Ma'se,  an'  Susie." 

"  Who  is  Susie  ?  " 

u  Doan  yo'  know  de  chile  ?  " 

"  No ;  an'  I  don't  care  to  know  her.  When  did  you 
get  back,  Cupe?" 

"  Look  at  de  honey  gearl,"  said  the  negro,  ignoring 
the  question.  "  Look  at  de  chile  ag'in,  Ma'se." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  the  old  negro  startled  the 
owner  of  the  house.  He  put  his  finger  under  the  chin 
of  the  child,  turned  her  face  up  to  the  light  and  gazed 
down  into  her  wondering  eyes.  The  eyes  in  the  smoke 
wreath  were  on  htm  again,  the  face  in  the  window  was 
now  a  face  in  the  room.  A  twinge  of  pain  that  did  not 
escape  the  quick  eye  of  Cupe  passed  over  his  counte 
nance  ;  memory  served  the  man  truly,  and  in  a  flash  he 
saw  a  child  in  the  arms  of  a  beseeching  woman.  And 
he  remembered,  too,  that  together  mother  and  child  had 
passed  out  into  the  night,  out  of  his  sight,  out  of  his 
life. 

u  No,  Cupe,  I  do  not  know  her,"  he  said,  and  turned 
to  the  negro.  "  Now  answer  my  question.  When  did 
you  get  back  ?  " 

Again  the  negro  drew  the  attention  of  the  man  to  the 
girl.  "  Doan  yo'  Meet  de  muddah  ob  de  chile  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  I  care  nothing  for  either  the  child  or  its 
mother.  What  brings  you  here  to  night  ?  " 

Glancing  about  the  room,  the  negro  caught  sight  of  a 
hand-mirror,  left  on  the  table  by  one  of  the  young  ladies. 
Picking  it  up,  he  handed  it  to  the  man.  u  Look  into  de 
glass,  Ma'se  ;  see  de  eyes  dat  look  back  in  yoah  face  an* 
den  look  at  de  eyes  ob  de  chile." 

A  flush  spread  over  Mr.  Manley's  face ;  he  raised  his 
240 


Cupe's  Plea  for  Susie's  Name 

clenched  fist,  but  the  negro  making  no  motion  to  evade 
the  blow,  said  in  a  low,  respectful  tone : 

" '  Deed,  Ma'se,  Cupe  doan  mean  no  disrespec'. 
Look  at  de  eyes  ob  de  chile,  an'  look  in  de  glass  an'  den 
look  at  de  face  ob  de  chile  an'  t'ink  ob  de  woman  yo' 
lubbed  in  York  State,  an'  who  follud  yo'  back  t'  Kain- 
tuck.  She  tramped  out  into  de  night,  a  lone  woman, 
wid  yoah  chile  in  her  arms,  from  dis  same  room." 

The  hand  of  the  man  trembled ;  he  dropped  the 
glass  and  sank  into  a  chair.  The  negro  closed  the  door 
and  locked  it,  gazing  constantly  at  the  man,  who  for  a 
moment  made  no  effort  to  renew  the  conversation. 
u  Ole  Sukey,"  continued  Cupe,  u  who  buy  her  freedom, 
saw  yo'  in  Sah'toga  wid  de  muddah  ob  de  chile.  She 
wah  bright  an'  pritty,  an'  de  smile  wah  on  her  face." 

Manley's  anger  blazed  out.  "  Cupe  Hardman,  when 
morning  comes  your  back  will  answer  for  this  night's 
work.  Out  of  my  house,  you  impudent  vagabonds.  Back 
to  Canada,  back  with  that  brat,  or  by  God  I  '11  —  " 

The  negro  sank  upon  his  knees  and  held  up  his  hands. 
"  Cupe  an'  Dinah  raised  yo',  Ma'se,  on  de  ole  Hardman 
fa'm.  Dey  lub  yo'  now  es  ef  yo'  wah  dah  own  chile. 
Min'  yo'  not  de  story  ob  yoah  life  ?  Lis'n  t'  Cupe  befo' 
yo'  dribe  dis  little  chile  'way.  Yoah  mudder  an'  yoah 
pap  once  libbed  in  Stringtown  ;  dey  wah  poo'  people, 
Ma'se,  an'  yo'  wah  a  wee  babe.  Den  de  sickness  came 
to  yoah  house  an'  den  deff.  Bof  yoah  muddah  an'  yoah 
pap  wah  carried  t'  de  grabeyard.  An'  den  ole  ma'se  say  : 
c  Dinah,  kin  yo'  raise  de  orfin  Stringtown  chile  ?  '  an' 
Dinah  say  :  c  Es  easy  t'  raise  two  chillun  es  one.'  An* 
ma'se  brung  yo'  home  nex'  day,  a  little  boy  wid  gieat 
eyes  —  no  uddah  chile  but  yoah  own  kin  hab  sech 
eyes  —  "and  Cupe  glanced  at  Susie.  "An'  yo'  grew 
up  'long  wid  de  chile  I  lub  so  well,  de  boy  whose  mud- 
16  241 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

dah  die  long  'go.  But  dah  wah  no  use  tryin',  yoj  two 
lioys  wah  cross-grained  an'  tough,  yo'  fight  an'  bite  an' 
raise  de  debbil,  an'  at  las'  sep'rate — yo'  know  why. 
De  fa'm  wah  not  big  nuff  fo'  bof  ob  yo'.  Ef  ebah  yo' 
had  stepped  foot  on  de  ole  place  ahftah  de  las'  act  yo'  did, 
Ma'se  Hardman  'ud  hab  killed  yo'  suah.  But  he  keep 
his  mouf  to  hisse'f  fo'  de  honah  ob  de  fam'ly.  Ma'se 
Hardman  gib  yo'  dis  fa'm  when  yo'  tuhn  'way  ;  de  Ian' 
wah  rich  an'  yo'  wah  smaht ;  et  am  a  biggah  fa'm  now. 
Yo'  am  a  fine  gem'n  an'  a  rich  man,  Ma'se." 

"  Well,  but  why  are  you  here,  Cupe  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Manley.  "  Why  are  you  here  to-night?  Do  you  want 
help,  money  ?  " 

The  negro  shook  his  head. 

"  What  is  it,  Cupe  ?  " 

Pointing  to  the  child,  the  black,  still  kneeling,  said  : 
u  Look  at  de  Susie  chile,  doan  look  at  Cupe." 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  girl  before,  Cupe ;  J  swear  by 
the  Lord  —  " 

Cupe  held  up  his  hand  :  "  Doan  sw'ar*  et  out,  Ma'se." 
Then  he  added  :  "  She  hab  no  muddah." 

"  Well." 

"  She  needs  a  faddah." 

The  man  raised  his  fist,  but  Cupe  again  held  out  his 
defenceless  hand.  "She  needs  de  name." 

"  What  damned  scheme  is  this  ?  Nigger  Cupe,  by 
God  I  '11  stretch  your  neck  on  the  old  elm  in  the  back 
pasture  sure  as  Heaven  lets  me  live  till  morning.  Out, 
out  of  the  room  !  When  daylight  comes  the  hounds 
will  be  on  your  track." 

No  movement  was  made  by  the  kneeling  negro  ;  with 
upstretched  hands,  uncovered  head,  he  looked  beseech 
ingly  upward.  Down  the  cheeks  of  his  wrinkled  face  a 
tear  trickled. 

242 


Cupe's  Plea  for  Susie's  Name 

"  You  shall  be  thrashed  until  your  back  is  bloody  as 
sure  as  the  Lord  —  " 

He  was  again  interrupted  by  the  kneeling  black,  who 
held  up  his  hand,  the  palm  exposed.  "  See  yo'  de  scar 
in  de  han'  ob  Cupe  ? " 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ? " 

"  Dah  am  no  feah  fo'  de  flesh  in  de  heaht  ob  de  man 
who  b'lebes  in  de  sign.  Save  de  honah  ob  yoah  own 
chile,  Ma'se,  an*  den  cut  de  back  ob  de  nigger." 

u  I  care  nothing  for  your  signs.     Go  !  " 

"Gib  de  Susie  chile  her  name,"  pleaded  the  negro j 
<c  the  yinnecent  gearl  nab  asked,  c  Am  I  only  nigger 
Susie  ? '  Lis'n,  Ma'se  Manley,  please  lis'n.  In  dc  cole 
Canerdy  Ian*  Susie  libed  wid  Cupe  an*  Dinah,  who  take 
her  out  ob  Kaintuck.  De  yeahs  come  an*  go,  an*  et 
wah  cole  near  'bout  all  de  time.  Cupe  work  in  de  day 
an'  Dinah  stay  wid  Susie,  an'  no  ha'm  come  t*  any  ob 
dem  —  but  et  wah  not  like  libin'  in  de  ole  cabin  in  Kain 
tuck.  Cupe  come  home  one  night,  an'  Dinah  say: 
*  Susie  ax  a  quistion  t'-day.'  *  An'  yo'  ansah  et,  Dinah  ? ' 
c  No.'  c  What  wah  de  quistion  ? '  c  She  say,  tt  In  de 
school  I  sit  in  de  seat  wid  Mary  Jones,  an'  in  de  uddah 
seat  sit  An'e  Moo'e,  an'  in  de  nex'  seat  sit  Lucy  Smiff." 
"  E'zac'ly."  I  ansah.  c  An'  den  I  tu'n  de  subject  by 
sayin' :  "  De  teachah  am  a  kind  man  ef  he  do  weah  a 
coa'se,  woman-like  dress  an'  a  string  ob  beads."  She 
say :  u  Yes  ;  but  he  ax  my  name  ag'in,  an*  I  tole  him, 
c  Susie.'  c  Susie  what  ?  '  '  Jes  Susie.'  An'  den  he  say  : 
'  Tole  de  fo'ks  yo'  lib  wid  t'  sen'  de  uddah  name  t'-mor- 
rah,  an'  tole  'em  I  '11  call  t'  see  'em  soon.'  Am  I  only 
Susie,  Aunt  Dinah  ? "  she  ax,  an'  a  tear  come  into  her 


eye.' 


u  c  Dinah,'  say  Cupe, c  Dinah,  when  de  mahn'n  comes 
back  we  '11  start  t*  ole  Kaintuck,  back  fo'  de  name  ob  de 

243 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

chile.'  An*  heah  we  am,  Ma'se  Manley.  Dah  am 
nuffin  moah'  t'  say." 

No  reply  was  made  by  the  man,  but  his  anger  seemed 
to  have  been  somewhat  soothed. 

After  an  interval  Cupe  continued  :  "  Dah  wah  bad 
signs  on  de  way  back  an'  dah  hab  be'n  ebil  omen  sense 
de  good  ole  Ian*  wah  reached,  but  heah  de  chile  am  at 
las'  in  de  home  ob  her  pap.  Look  up,  Susie." 

The  child  raised  her  face,  and  gazed  into  that  of  the 
white  man. 

"She  doan  ax  fo'  money,  she  doan  ax  fo'  Ian',  er 
dresses,  er  rings.  She  doan  ax  fo'  nuffin  money  kin 
brung,  er  fo'  what  doan  b'long  t'  her;  de  yinnecent 
chile  ax  fo'  de  name  she  am  'titled  to  an'  ax  et  ob  de 
big,  rich  man  who  tu'ned  a  lone  baby  out  into  de  worP 
outen  a  name.  De  debbil  nebbah  did  nuffin  wussah." 

u  You  insulting  scoundrel  —  " 

"  Cupe  an'  Dinah  lub  de  gearl  an'  lub  de  Ian'  ob 
Kaintuck  bettah  dan  all  de  worP  b'side.  But  fo'  de 
good  ob  de  chile,  ef  yo'  '11  take  her  into  de  house  an' 
open  yoah  heaht  t'  de  yinnecent  orfin,  an'  gib  her  de 
name  she  need  an'  yo'  owe  t'  her,  we  two  ole  niggers  '11 
tu'n  back  to  de  cole  Canerdy  Ian'  an'  nebbah  look  on 
her  face  ag'in.  Please,  Ma'se  Manley,  an'  de  Lawd  '11 
bress  yo'  in  de  day  ob  jubilee." 

Mr.  Manley  pointed  to  the  door. 

u  Fo'  de  lub  ob  yoah  chile,  yoah  own  chile,  Ma'se  ?  " 

Still  he  pointed  to  the  door.     "  Go  !  " 

The  old  man  arose.  Dinah  for  the  first  time  moved 
to  the  front ;  she  stood  to  the  right  of  Mr.  Manley, 
Cupe  to  his  left. 

u  Will  yo'  damn  yoah  own  chile  by  stealin'  her  name 
'way  ?  Bettah  steal  her  money  er  cut  her  froat." 

Mr.  Manley  raised  his  clenched  fist.  "Dog  of  a 
241 


Cupe's  Plea  for  Susie's  Name 

nigger,  you  lie,  you  lie  !  "  The  negroes  sprang  forward 
simultaneously.  Cupe  wrapped  his  long  arms  around 
Manley,  holding  him  tightly.  Dinah  jerked  forth  a 
strong  strap,  and  before  the  prisoner  realised  what  they 
were  about  lashed  his  ankles  together,  while  with  another 
strap  she  bound  his  arms  close  to  his  side.  The  move 
ments  of  the  actors  were  unexpected,  the  strength  dis 
played  was  unlocked  for,  the  expertness  with  which  they 
did  their  work  amazing.  The  prisoner  became  a  pris 
oner  without  realising  the  fact  until  he  was  bound,  and 
then  he  instantly  regained  his  natural  calmness. 

"  You  '11  be  flogged  in  the  morning  until  your  back 
is  raw,  Cupe,"  he  quietly  said. 

But  Cupe  before  replying  set  the  helpless  man  in  his 
easy-chair,  then  said  :  u  De  lash  am  not  so  painful  es 
de  brand  ob  de  fiah.  Cupe  kin  Stan'  dem  bof.  Ma'se, 
de  Lawd  knows  Cupe  lubs  yo'  yit,  but  he  lubs  de  Susie 
gearl  moah.  Yo'  hab  done  wrong  t'  yo'selb,  Ma'se,  an' 
yo'  hab  done  wrong  t'  Susie,  yoah  own  chile." 

"  I  have  not,  Cupe.     The  Lord  knows — " 

Cupe  again  interrupted  him. 

u  Two  times  befo'  yo'  call  on  de  Lawd.  Do  yo' 
wan'  t'  lebe  de  mattah  ob  de  truff  ob  yoah  words  t' 
de  Lawd  ?  " 

"The  Lord  witness  that  I  have  had  no  part  in 
wronging  that  child." 

u  De  Lawd  mus'  be  de  witness ;  yo'  hab  called  de 
'zact  numbah  ob  times  on  de  one  who  kin  prube  de 
right.  De  Lawd  shall  be  de  jedge."  Then  slowly, 
earnestly,  as  if  uttering  a  sacred  command,  he  said : 

"  Brung  de  o'deal  bean,  Dinah,  brung  bof  de  o'deal 
bean." 


245 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    FEARFUL    AFRICAN    ORDEAL    TEST 

QOMETHING  in  the  tone  of  the  old  man  startled 
O  the  prisoner.  A  chill  crept  over  him.  Brought 
up  as  he  had  been  with  the  negroes,  he  realised  that 
unless  the  intruders  had  been  reckless  of  personal  danger 
or  sure  of  the  success  of  their  undertaking  they  would 
not  have  been  so  rash  as  to  commit  such  an  outrage  on 
a  Kentucky  gentleman.  It  might  mean  death  to  them. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Mr.  Manley  felt  the 
sensation  of  fear.  Too  well  did  he  realise  the  extent  to 
which  a  fanatical  fatalist,  such  as  he  knew  Cupe  to  be, 
would  carry  his  measures,  did  he  believe  it  a  duty  im 
posed  by  supernatural  power. 

u  De  bean,  Dinah,  gib  me  de  bean." 

Unbuttoning  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  the  woman 
drew  forth  a  leather  bag.  Cupe  opened  it  by  means 
of  a  draw-string  and  poured  into  his  palm  three  kidney- 
shaped  beans,  each  about  half  an  inch  in  diameter  and 
two  inches  long,  which  he  held  before  the  prisoner. 

"  Ma'se,  ef  Cupe  had  be'n  bohn  in  de  hot  Afriky  Ian* 
he  Jd  hab  be'n  a  king.  Dis  is  de  bean  my  gran'dad, 
King  ob  de  GoPcoas'  ob  Afriky,  brought  t*  America. 
Et  wah  raised  on  a  sacred  vine  dat  only  kings  might 
grow.  No  uddah  man  wah  'lowed  t'  touch  de  precious 
bean."  He  reverently  raistd  one  of  the  nuts  between 
the  tip  of  his  forefinger  and  his  thumb ;  u  Et  am  dl 
sacred  9' deal  nut"  he  said  in  an  undertone. 

246 


The  Fearful  African  Ordeal  Test 

u  Et  kin  tole  ef  a  man  am  lyin*.  Ef  a  man  am 
s'pected  ob  killin'  anuddah  man  de  o'deal  nut  kin  prube 
de  fac'.  Ef  a  man  am  s'pected  ob  hoodoo  work,  de  o'deal 
bean  kin  show  ef  he  be  a  hoodoo  man.  De  woman 
what  act  de  witch  kin  fool  de  doctah  an'  her  husban', 
but  she  kin  not  fool  de  o'deal  bean.  De  o'deal  bean  am 
God's  bean,  an'  only  de  son  ob  a  king  kin  make  de  o'deal 
test.  Cupe  am  de  son  ob  a  king."  l 

"God  Almighty,  Cupe,"  cried  Manley,  "you  are 
carrying  your  superstition  too  far  !  " 

"  De  Lawd  am  goin'  t'  prube  ef  yo'  hab  be'n  tellin* 
de  truff  'bout  de  Susie  chile." 

"  That  devilish  bean  has  no  power ;   it   is  senseless." 

"  De  o'deal  nut  kin  do  no  ha'm  to  de  yinnecent,  but 
et  am  suah  defF  t*  de  guilty  man.  Yo,  need  hab  no  feah 
ef  yo'  hab  tole  de  truff,  but  de  man  who  take  de  o'deal 
test  had  bettah  say  his  prayers  ef  de  lie  am  on  his  lips." 
He  turned  to  the  woman  :  "  Make  de  drink,  Dinah  ;  " 
and  Cupe  handed  her  one  of  the  beans. 


1  This  is  according  to  the  custom  of  the  natives  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Calabar  river,  Africa.  But  instead  of  a  painless  death  the  suspected 
person  (or  rather,  victim)  always  perished  miserably,  suffering  most 
intensely.  In  this  connection  the  following  by  W.  F.  Daniell,  Esq. 
On  the  Aratives  of  Old  Calabar,  in  the  Edinburgh  New  Philosophical 
Journal,  Vol.  40,  1846,  pp.  313-327  (p.  318),  is  of  interest:  "The 
Government  of  the  Old  Calabar  towns  is  a  monarchical  despotism 
rather  mild  in  its  general  character,  although  sometimes  severe  and 
absolute  in  its  details.  The  King  and  chief  inhabitants  ordinarily 
constitute  a  court  of  justice,  in  which  all  country  disputes  are  ad 
justed,  and  to  which  every  prisoner  suspected  of  capital  offences  is 
brought,  to  undergo  examination  and  judgment.  If  found  guilty, 
they  are  usually  forced  to  swallow  a  deadly  poison,  made  from  the 
poisonous  seeds  of  an  aquatic  leguminous  plant,  which  rapidly  des 
troys  life.  This  poison  is  obtained  by  pounding  the  seeds  and  macerat 
ing  them  in  water,  which  acquires  a  white  milky  colour."  To  the 
above  it  may  be  added  that  this  "  Ordeal  Test  "  was  applied  also  to 
persons  who  displeased  the  ruler  and  who  consequently  made  this 
a  means  to  an  end. 

247 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Dinah  had  often  been  called  to  assist  in  the  mansion 
during  parties  and  celebrations  .  given  in  other  days. 
Straight  to  the  kitchen  she  went,  crushed  the  bean  and 
pounded  it  into  meal.  Then  she  poured  cold  water 
over  the  powder,  set  the  pan  on  the  wood  embers  still 
glowing  in  the  stove,  stirred  its  contents  slowly  and 
watched  the  liquid  until  it  simmered.  Daring  the 
period  she  mumbled  strange  words,  made  curious  passes 
and  motions  with  her  hands,  over  the  decoction,  and 
once  with  her  husky  voice  she  sang  a  weird  air  such  as 
no  civilised  musician  ever  cast  into  notes.  At  last  the 
task  was  done.  Cooling  the  decoction  by  holding  the 
pan  in  cold  water,  she  poured  the  potion  into  a  tumbler, 
artfully  decanting  it  from  the  dregs  and  carried  the  tea  to 
Cupe,  who  sat  facing  the  helpless  man. 

The  little  girl  in  the  meantime  had  fallen  asleep  and 
rested  on  the  sofa,  but  now  her  eyes  were  wide  open. 

"  Ma'se  Manley,"  said  Cupe,  taking  the  glass  in  his 
hand,  "  et  es  wid  sorrah  dat  Cupe,  who  lubs  yo'  so 
deahly,  feels  de  'cessity  ob  honorin'  yo'  on  dis  yocasion. 
But  yo'  make  him  do  et ;  free  times  an*  one  extra  yo* 
call  de  Lawd  t'  witness  de  fac'  yo'  swo'  to.  De  word 
ob  a  fine  gem'n  am  great,  but  de  powah  ob  de  o'deal 
bean  am  greatah.  Yo'  may  drink  t'  de  glory  ob  de 
Lawd."  He  held  the  cup  to  the  ashen  lips  of  the 
man,  who  made  no  movement. 

"  Drink  de  o'deal  tea,  an'  ef  yo'  hab  tole  de  truffyoah 
res'  '11  be  sweet  an'  yoah  wakin'  pleasant." 

"You  black  scoundrel  !  "  answered  the  helpless  man  ; 
"you  fanatical  lunatic  !  I  won't  swallow  a  drop." 

"  Yo'  call'  on  de  Lawd  an'  yo'  mus'  drink  t'  de  Lawd. 
Et  pains  Cupe  t'  'blige  yo'  t'  op'n  yoah  lips,  but  he  hab 
drenched  ho'ses  an'  mules,  an'  kin  drench  a  man.  Drink, 
sr  Cupe  '11  poah  de  sacred  tea  down  yoah  froat." 

248 


The  Fearful  African  Ordeal  Test 

u  Cupe,  do  you  want  to  murder  me  ?  Dinah,  when 
I  was  a  child  you  held  me  on  your  knee,  you  have  told 
me  stories  by  the  cabin  fire,  you  have  dressed  me  in  the 
morning,  watched  over  me  during  the  day,  and  put  me 
into  bed  at  night.  Dinah,  am  I  not  the  orphan  child 
you  raised  ?  " 

"  Cupe  am  de  son  ob  a  king." 

"  Dinah,  I  gave  you  money  to  buy  tombstones  for 
your  children." 

"  De  sacred  o'deal  comes  from  God,  cussed  be  de 
pusson  who  bre'k  de  cha'm." 

The  man  turned  an  imploring  look  on  Cupe,  who 
answered :  u  De  o'deal  bean  am  harmless  t*  de  yin- 
necent." 

"  Don't  poison  me,  Cupe ;  I  ain't  a  dog.  Shoot  me. 
A  man  should  not  die  by  poison."  The  negro  shook 
his  head.  The  prisoner  made  one  last  appeal. 

"  My  children,  my  two  girls,"  continued  Mr.  Manley. 
"For  their  sakes." 

"  Dah  am  free  gear  Is." 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

Cupe  pointed  to  the  sleeping  child. 

"No." 

"  God  help  yo'   Ma'se.     Down  wid  de  o'deal." 

There  was  no  hope  now ;  that  no  had  steeled  the 
negro's  heart.  By  a  method  that  must  have  been  taught 
the  mixer  of  the  ordeal  by  one  who  was  expert  at  forc 
ing  a  liquid  down  the  throat  of  a  struggling  person,  Cupe 
and  Dinah  forced  the  prisoner  to  drain  the  strange  potion 
to  the  dregs.  Not  a  drop  was  spilled.  Then  Dinah 
Went  to  the  kitchen,  washed  the  glass  and  pan,  removed 
every  evidence  of  disorder  made  by  herself,  and  re 
turned  to  find  Cupe  still  facing  the  now  very  frightened 
man. 

249 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Cupe,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  strangely.  There  is  a 
whirling  in  my  brain;  you  have  poisoned  your  old 
friend,  Cupe." 

"  De  o'deal  am  harmless  t'  de  yinnecent." 

ic  Cupe,  I  know  nothing  about  the  mother  of  the 
girl.  I  have  never  seen  the  girl  before." 

"  De  woman  who  carry  de  chile  in  her  arms  say  dat 
yo'  dribe  her  out  into  de  night.  She  wrote  et  all  down, 
an  she  swo'  t'  dat  papah  befo'  de  Stringtown  jestice  ob 
de  peace." 

"  My  daughters  !  "  moaned  the  man,  who  now  real 
ised  fully  his  position  —  poison  in  his  blood,  disgrace  in 
the  future.  u  Cupe,  I  beg  you  not  to  let  that  paper 
come  to  light  —  I  beg  you." 

"  Et  hab  be'n  read  by  de  Stringtown  clerk." 

The  man's  mind  wandered ;  the  deadly  African  ordeal 
was  burning  out  his  nerve  power. 

"  Save  me,  Cupe,  save  the  honour  of  my  children," 
he  implored.  "  In  the  drawer  of  that  secretary  you  will 
find  diamonds  and  pearls." 

Cupe  shook  his  head.  Too  well  did  he  know  the 
symptoms  of  that  fearful  ordeal,  from  which  no  man 
ever  recovered.  All  who  drank  that  potion  were  guilty. 

"  De  jewels  doan  all  b'long  t'  Susie." 

"  Take  them  all,  but  burn  that  paper.  You  mean  to 
doubly  murder  me,  Cupe  ?  " 

"  De  Lawd  am  yoah  jedge,  not  Cupe." 

The  eyes  of  the  man  were  now  fixed  on  vacancy,  his 
breath  came  spasmodically,  his  skin  turned  ashen  white. 
"  God  help  me.  God  save  my  children  !  " 

No  sign  of  sympathy  was  exhibited  by  the  witnesses 
of  the  tragedy.  Standing  by  his  side,  they  coldly 
watched  his  spasmodic  struggles  until  the  life  of  the 
miserable  man  went  out. 

220 


The  Fearful  African  Ordeal  Test 

"  Dinah,"  said  Cupe,  u  de  Lawd  hab  be'n  de  jedge. 
Bressed  be  de  name  ob  de  Lawd  !  " 

In  the  grey  of  morning  the  merry  frolickers  returned. 
In  the  cheerful  sitting-room  Mr.  Manley  sat  in  his  easy- 
chair,  his  head  bowed  on  his  folded  arms  that  rested  on 
the  stand  before  him.  In  his  hand,  between  the  fore 
finger  and  the  thumb,  was  the  ashened  stump  of  a  cigar. 
The  lamp  burned  dimly,  an  open  book  lay  face  down  on 
the  table,  beside  it  stood  a  decanter  and  a  glass. 

The  doctor  came.  u  Death  was  instantaneous.  A 
painless  touch  at  the  heart,  a  drooping  of  the  head; 
peaceable  as  an  infant's  sleep,  came  his  last  call." 

The  preacher  came.  "  A  good  man  has  passed  away, 
his  name  honoured  throughout  the  land  that  knew  him. 
His  every  act  was  that  of  righteousness  ;  never  did  the 
poor  or  wronged  appeal  to  him  in  vain.  The  soul  of 
honour,  his  course  on  earth  was  a  just  one.  Typical 
of  sincerity,  his  every  act  is  clear  to  the  world,  his 
record  is  open  to  the  inspection  of  whomsoever  will. 
Peaceably,  as  death  should  come  to  one  who  stands  ever 
ready  to  die,  did  death  come  here.  Touched  by  the 
kindly  finger  of  God,  this  upright  man  went  contentedly 
to  his  final  home  in  the  bright  beyond." 


251 


CHAPTER   XLI 

THE    STRINGTOWN    SCHOOL 

THE  bell  on  the  pole  in  front  of  the  Stringtown 
schoolhouse  had  sounded  the  ending  of  the  after 
noon  recess.  Boys  and  girls  together  in  struggling  dis 
order  crowded  through  the  door  into  the  room.  In  a 
few  moments  the  noisy  group  had  been  distributed,  and 
the  majority  at  once  became  absorbed  in  the  lessons  that 
were  to  end  the  task  of  the  day.  Professor  Drake  had 
called  the  class  in  history  to  the  recitation  bench  and 
had  even  asked  a  question  of  the  head  student,  when  the 
proceedings  were  interrupted  by  a  knock. 

Every  head  in  the  room  was  raised,  each  pair  of  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  entrance.  "  Open  the  door,  Sammy 
Drew,"  came  the  order  from  the  teacher,  and  I  sprang  to 
do  the  honours  of  the  occasion.  Before  me  stood  Mr. 
Nordman,  the  old  gentleman  who  lived  on  the  String- 
town  pike,  south  of  the  village.  With  a  nod  he  passed 
me  by  and  in  his  genial  manner  reached  out  his  hand  to 
Professor  Drake.  But  I  did  not  close  the  door,  neither 
did  I  move  in  nor  out.  Close  behind  him,  and  now 
facing  me,  stood  a  boy  about  my  own  age.  Our  eyes 
met ;  the  devil  could  not  have  leered  more  wickedly 
than  did  he  as  his  eye  caught  mine.  His  turned-up 
nose  grew  more  pointed,  his  thin  red  lips  drew  tightly 
and  stretched  over  his  gums  until  I  saw  impressions 
of  his  teeth  marked  in  white  through  their  very  sub 
stance.  His  hat  was  held  in  his  hand  —  a  hand  as  red 


The  Stringtown  School 

as  the  foot  of  a  duck  ;  his  mop  of  red  hair  glistened  in 
the  sunshine  like  oak  leaves  after  a  frosty  spell  in 
autumn  —  red  as  are  the  leaves  of  the  autumn  oak,  red 
as  is  no  other  shade  of  red. 

Then  occurred  an  amazing  thing;  while  yet  I  faced 
the  boy  his  impish  eyes  flashed  and  created  sensations  in 
my  mind  that  words  could  not  have  done.  "  V/e  two 
are  enemies."  Perhaps  my  own  eyes  answered  his  stare. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  all  the  viciousness  of  my  nature  up 
rose,  and  back  into  his  face  I  leered  as  insolently  as  did 
he  into  mine.  His  lips  turned  whiter  still  as  he  drew 
them  more  tightly  over  his  closed  teeth,  and  sure  as 
truth  can  be  written,  his  crimson  ears  wagged  back  and 
forth  and  mocked  me.  Then  while  yet  they  waved 
before  my  eyes,  the  scalp  of  his  head  began  to  creep 
backward ;  it  drew  upon  the  crown  until  his  elongated 
forehead  reached  near  to  his  ear  tips,  after  which  the 
flexible  skin  flipped  suddenly  back  and  gyrated  round 
and  round,  then  back  and  forth,  moving,  as  it  did  so? 
that  mop  of  hair,  which,  as  the  movements  of  the  scalp 
ceased,  rose  up  as  do  the  bristles  on  a  wild  hog's  back. 
Never  before  had  I  seen  such  gymnastics  ;  never  since 
have  I  seen  his  equal. 

But  an  instant  did  it  take  for  these  things  to  come 
and  pass.  I  alone  saw  him,  and  he  alone  saw  my  face, 
for  my  form  closed  the  jar  of  the  door.  We  raised  our 
fists  as  by  a  signal,  and  then,  just  as  the  teacher's  voice 
broke  upon  the  air,  we  sprang  at  each  other  as  do  boys 
who  hate  each  other.  Boys  fight  with  teeth  and  fists 
and  finger  nails  and  feet,  and  so  did  we,  to  the  credit  of 
the  most  vicious.  Unmindful  of  blow  or  bruise,  of  bite 
or  finger  clutch,  we  fought  in  a  manner  worthy  of  those 
who  fight  in  behalf  of  a  good  cause,  but  neither  good 
nor  bad  cause  had  we  for  which  to  fight.  It  was  simply 

253 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

fight.  The  bruises  made  by  the  stony  pavement  on 
which  we  rolled  were  unfelt,  the  blow  of  the  fist  that 
u  smashed  "  my  nose  and  bloodied  my  face  and  gar 
ments  gave  me  no  pain,  the  bite  that  left  the  print  of 
two  sets  of  teeth  on  my  arm  did  not  concern  me.  I 
gave  as  good  as  I  received  —  that  point  alone  was  my 
ambition  —  and  when  we  two  combatants  were  parted 
by  Professor  Drake  and  Mr.  Nordman  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  say  whether  either  had  been  punished 
more  than  the  other.  "  A  devilish  good  fight  on  short 
notice,'*  said  Mr.  Nordman,  in  a  tone  that  bespoke  no 
ill  will ;  but  Prof.  Drake  took  another  view  of  the 
matter.  A  gross  breach  of  discipline  had  been  com 
mitted  and  a  strict  rule  of  the  school  broken. 

We  were  led  inside,  and  then  Prof.  Drake  chalked 
two  small  circles  on  the  floor.  Side  by  side,  each  in  his 
ring,  stood  the  Red-Headed  Boy  and  myself,  both  defiant, 
each  more  vicious  than  before.  My  blood  was  scat 
tered  over  his  garments,  and  clumps  of  his  red  hair  were 
sticking  between  my  fingers.  The  eye  next  me  was 
closed,  the  ear  on  the  same  side  was  lacerated  and 
bloody.  a  A  devilish  spunky  pair,  I  say,"  added  Mr. 
Nordman,  who  now  occupied  a  chair  on  the  rostrum 
beside  Prof.  Drake.  But  the  indignant  teacher  made  no 
reply. 

"Samuel  Drew,"  he  spoke  severely,  "explain  to  me 
the  cause  of  this  disgraceful  affair." 

I  made  no  answer.  There  was  no  "  cause "  tc 
explain. 

u  Did  this  boy  say  anything  to  warrant  you  in  striking 
him  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Did  he  strike  you  first  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

254 


The  Stringtown  School 

"  Had  he  struck  you  previously  ?  " 

«  No,  sir." 

u  Did  he  give  you  reason  to  fight  ?  " 

«  Yes,  sir." 

«  What  did  he  do  ?  " 

«  Nothing." 

"  Nothing !  and   yet  gave  you  reason  to  fight 
jaid  the  teacher  ironically. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered. 

Turning  to  the  other  boy,  Mr.  Drake  asked : 

"  Did  Sammy  say  anything  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nuthin'."  ' 

"  Did  he  strike  you  first  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Have  you  and  Sammy  fought  before  this  time  ?  ** 

"  No." 

"  Why  did  you  fight  :  " 

"Fer  nuthin'." 

The  eyes  of  Drake  dropped  to  the  floor.  As  they 
did  so,  the  lacerated  ear  of  the  Red-Headed  Boy,  the  ear 
toward  me,  moved  up  and  down,  back  and  forth.  The 
young  devil  was  mocking  me  again.  I  could  not  answer 
him  in  the  same  way,  but  I  scraped  a  tuft  of  his  hair 
from  between  my  fingers,  and  as  he  eyed  me,  slyly  I 
twirled  it  before  his  gaze.  The  war  was  still  on. 

"  It  will  do  no  good  to  flog  these  boys,"  said  Mr. 
Nordman,  who  it  could  be  seen  was  not  disturbed  over 
the  combat. 

"  I  am  not  in  favour  of  physical  punishment,"  an 
swered  the  professor.  u  I  do  not  whip  boys.  Discipline, 
however,  is  necessary.  I  must  punish  them  severely." 

"  Professah,"  spoke  Mr.  Nordman,  "  will  you  permit 
me,  sah,  to  make  a  suggestion  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     I  shall  value  it/* 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

u  I  am  an  old  man  and  have  learned  some  things  as  1 
have  passed  along.  Blood  is  blood,  sah,  and  blood 
counts.  Young  folks  are  not  old  folks.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  can  see  anything  wrong  about  what  these  boys 
have  done,  unless  it  be  in  the  place  selected  for  the  fight. 
It  wah  fair  on  both  sides,  and  neither  of  them  showed 
the  white  feather.  School  is  for  study,  I  '11  admit,  but 
not  ail  of  it  can  be  study  and,  by  Gad  !  when  the  time 
comes  that  American  boys  are  punished  for  an  innocent 
tussle  and  taught  never  to  fight,  sah,  the  prospect  for 
our  country  is  devilish  bad,  Professah  !  " 

Again  the  professor  flushed. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  Professah  Drake,  and  you  will 
take  kindly  what  I  have  to  say.  Don't  punish  the  boy 
who  faces  the  music,  but  him  who  runs  away.  If  you  '11 
persuade  Sammy  to  fight  no  mo'ah  during  school  hours, 
I  ansah  for  that  chap,"  and  he  pointed  to  my  antagonist. 
"  But  unless  something  strongah  than  yoah  rules  prevent, 
they  will  fight  it  out  yet,  sure  as  shooting,  Professah." 

Professor  Drake  mused  a  moment. 

"  Sammy,  take  your  place  at  your  desk,"  he  said, 
Looking  about  the  room,  he  selected  a  vacant  seat, 
separated  quite  a  distance  from  my  bench,  for  the  new 
boy. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

SUSIE'S    INTRODUCTION     TO     THE     STRINGTOWN     SCHOOL 

AS  I  sat  at  my  desk  that  afternoon,  my  mind  reverted 
to  the  past.  I  recalled  that  it  had  really  been 
predicted  that  this  boy  and  I  were  to  be  antagonists. 
Then,  as  my  meditating  mind  drew  a  still  clearer  view 
of  the  past,  I  recalled  the  exact  words  of  the  black 
omen-reader  who  had  warned  me  to  u  Beware  of  the 
Red-Head  Boy  !  "  Back  and  forth  ran  fragments  of 
the  long-neglected  prediction,  until  at  last  I  caught 
another  sentence :  "  Et  say  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  '11  die 
sudden,  an'  dat  yo'  an'  Susie  '11  be  de  cause  ;  an'  dat 
yo  '11  die  sudden,  an'  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  an'  Susie  '11 
be  de  cause." 

There  sat  the  evil  object  of  the  omen-reading  seer ;  and 
then,  as  the  last  part  of  the  sentence  ran  again  through 
my  mind,  I  glanced  over  among  the  girls,  at  one  who 
came  among  us  in  the  early  part  of  the  piesent  session. 
I  remember  that  morning  well.  She  was  accompanied 
by  old  negro  Cupe,  who  stood  with  bare  head  beside  the 
open  door  while  her  name  was  being  recorded  and  her 
bench  place  selected.  Every  morning  the  negro  brought 
his  charge  to  the  door,  every  evening  when  school  was 
dismissed  he  stood  patiently  waiting  outside.  A  little, 
shrinking  bit  of  a  girl  was  she,  strangely  dressed,  neat, 
clean,  starched  and  prim.  I  recall  her  timid  look  as  she 
stood  that  morning  before  Professor  Drake  —  the  shy 
17  257 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

glance  she  shot  about  the  room,  the  shrinking,  drooping 
eye  that  fell  to  the  floor  as  she  met  the  gaze  of  those 
about,  for  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  —  a  new 
scholar. 

"  Your  name,  child  ?  "  asked  Professor  Drake,  who 
with  pen  in  hand  was  prepared  to  enter  the  name  on  the 
school  record.  It  was  merely  a  question  of  formality, 
for  all  of  Stringtown  knew  the  girl,  all  of  Stringtown 
knew  her  history,  how  she  had  disappeared  when  the 
two  negroes  did  and  returned  again  with  them  from 
Canada. 

"  Susie,"  was  the  low  answer. 

"  Your  other  name,  please  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  Susie." 

I  who  sat  near  caught  the  flush  on  her  cheek  as  her 
eyes  drooped. 

The  teacher  seemed  inclined  to  ask  another  question. 
Then,  perhaps  because  he  too  noticed  the  cheek  flush, 
forbore  and  motioned  her  to  be  seated. 

"  Children,"  he  said,  speaking  to  the  school,  "  we 
have  a  new  scholar  to-day,  one  long  absent  from  String- 
town,  but  whom  I  have  wished  since  her  return  to 
number  among  us.  This  child  "  —  and  he  looked  at 
Susie  — "  deserves  to  be  treated  with  the  utmost  kind 
ness.  She  is  my  especial  charge  for  she  has  excited  my 
personal  interest.  While  no  favouritism  can  be  shown 
by  me  for  or  against  any  pupil,  still  I  wish  it  to  be 
known  that  whoever  mistreats  this  child  will  incur  my 
severest  displeasure ;  and  that  those  who  aid  and  favour 
her  will  please  me  very  much.  Let  the  older  girls  take 
an  interest  in  her  welfare  by  assisting  the  little  girl  in 
every  way  possible,  and  in  making  her  school-days 
pleasant."  Then  looking  about  the  room,  he  said : 
"  Mj  child  take  your  seat  at  the  desk  with  Jennie  Man- 

258 


Susie's  Introduction  to  School 

ley."  Jennie  Manley  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
planter  who  had  suddenly  died  one  night  a  few  months 
before. 

And  so  Susie  came  shrinkingly  into  the  Stringtown 
school  in  the  commencement  of  this  session,  the  school 
I  had  dumbly  attended  all  my  school  life,  and  to  which, 
now  came  the  Red-Headed  Boy  of  Nordman.  We  three 
were  at  last  together  in  the  same  room. 

The  girls  of  our  Stringtown  school  gave  Susie  a  warm 
reception ;  they  opened  their  hearts  to  the  waif,  and 
soon  the  wild  child  was  made  to  feel  at  home.  Bright 
and  cheerful,  grateful  for  little  kindnesses,  she  made  for 
herself  a  place  in  each  heart,  and  Professor  Drake  had  no 
need  to  ask  further  favours  in  her  behalf. 

Not  so  warm  was  the  reception  the  boys  of  our  school 
gave  "  Red-Head."  His  advent,  it  is  true,  had  been  such 
as  to  merit  their  admiration,  and  his  subsequent  deport 
ment  was  defiant  enough  to  please  any  Kentucky-bred 
boy.  But  he  made  no  friends.  He  came  alone  to 
school  each  morning,  alone  he  left  when  study  hours 
were  over.  During  recess,  if  the  weather  was  fair,  he 
sat  on  the  fence  and  whittled,  taking  no  part  in  the 
games  of  the  boys ;  if  the  weather  was  bad  he  sought  a 
lone  spot  inside  the  room.  His  sarcastic  face  leered  at 
all  who  approached  him.  Within  a  week  no  boy  spoke 
to  him,  he  in  turn  gave  no  word  to  others,  and  an  occa 
sional  cat  wail  could  be  heard  when  his  back  was  turned. 
But  no  other  boy  sought  a  direct  quarrel.  By  common 
consent,  it  seemed,  the  field  was  left  for  us  —  we  two 
who  were  conspicuous  in  that  we  never  looked  at  each 
other  and  alone  gave  no  taunt  when  accident  brought  us 
together ;  too  deep  was  the  hatred  that  down  in  our 
natures  spoke  from  each  to  the  other,  rendering  no 
taunt  necessary.  War  had  been  declared  when  first  we 

259 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

met,  and  it  seemed  evident  that  no  peace  could  come 
between  us  until  the  fight  had  been  finished. 

And  so  the  "  Red-Head  "  came  and  went ;  never  did 
he  seem  to  look  at  any  girl,  surely  he  did  not  speak  to 
any  boy.  As  I  recall  those  days  I  perceive,  as  I  could 
not  then,  that  if  ever  a  boy  stood  isolated  in  the  world 
that  Stringtown  boy  was  alone.  And  as  I  think  of  the 
dreary  part  our  school  was  to  him,  I  cannot  but  ques 
tion,  had  I  not  met  him  half  way  and  struck  that  blow, 
would  he  have  struck  me  ?  If  we  had  not  fought  that 
afternoon  in  the  old  Stringtown  schoolyard,  would  the 
chain  of  events  that  followed  have  been  diverted  ?  Had 
the  boys  and  girls  of  our  school  sought  to  befriend  him, 
as  we  might  have  done,  and  should  have  done,  would 
the  evil  in  his  make-up  have  strengthened  as  it  did  ? 
Would  goodness  and  grace  have  upstarted  and  displaced 
the  pernicious  emotions  that  seemed  to  then  dominate 
his  life  ?  1  cannot  answer,  and  these  musings  are  not 
pleasant,  for  it  is  evident  now  that  there  was  cause  to 
seek  for  evil  in  myself. 


2<5o 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE  CHALLENGE  OF  RED-HEAD 

MEMORY  is  not  less  vivid  than  is  sight.  I  can 
see  that  uncouth  boy  now  as  plainly  as  I  saw 
him  then.  Sitting  on  the  line  fence  that  separated  our 
school  from  the  neighbour  on  the  south,  his  favourite 
place  was  a  conspicuous  locust  post,  that  near  the  pike 
line  gave  a  good  view  both  up  and  down  the  street. 
His  employment  consisted  in  watching  this  road,  whit 
tling  a  stick  and  sharpening  his  great  horn-handled 
knife.  I  might  say  that  his  main  object  seemed  to  be  to 
scan  the  pike ;  for  even  while  whittling,  his  bright,  little 
eyes  were  ever  glancing  about  as  though  he  were  expect 
ing  some  one.  Watchful  may  better  express  the  sen 
sation  that  comes  now  to  my  mind  as  I  reflect  over  his 
method  and  deportment.  That  knife  needs  also  a  word, 
for  it  was  ever  in  his  hand.  It  was  not  an  ordinary 
pocket-knife,  but  big  enough  to  "  stick  a  hog."  True, 
the  blade  closed  into  a  rude  buckhorn  handle,  still  it  was 
not  such  a  clasp-knife  as  merchants  cany  in  stock.  It 
seemed  to  have  been  rudely  made  by  a  blacksmith.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  Red-Head  knew  how  to  use  it.  Indif 
ferent  to  our  games  or  pastimes,  he  held  himself  aloof, 
knife  in  hand,  perched  upon  the  fence,  gazing  up  the 
pike.  Yet  occasionally  he  did  take  part  in  some  boyish 
turn. 

We  were   playing  at  hop-skip-and-jump,   we  school 
boys.     The  game  had  drawn  itself  down  until  the  two 

261 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

rival  jumpers  of  the  school  confronted  each  other. 
Every  boy  but  Red-Head  had  taken  part,  and  he,  in 
different,  sat  on  the  fence  idly  gazing  first  up  the  pike 
and  then  down  upon  the  striving  contestants  below  him. 
A  sneer  from  some  boy  met  his  ear,  but  sneers  were  not 
new  to  him. 

"  Afraid  to  jump,  Red-Head  ?  "  cried  one. 

"  Who  's  afeard  ?  " 

"  Red-Head  !  "   piped  in  another. 

Slowly  climbing  down  from  his  perch  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fence  from  us,  the  mountain  boy  closed  his 
knife,  and  with  a  run  and  a  jump  sprang  straight  toward 
the  tall  fence.  High  into  the  air  his  lithe  form  rose, 
drew  itself  into  a  knot  as  the  top  of  the  fence  was 
reached,  doubled  a  somersault  in  the  air,  then  over  with 
out  touching,  over  and  far  beyond  was  he  when  those 
heels  struck  and  marked  the  soft  earth.  Never  before 
had  such  a  jump  been  made  in  the  Stringtown  school 
yard  —  or  rather,  I  should  say,  into  the  Stringtown 
school-yard.  We  village  boys  stood  amazed  at  the  feat 
of  the  youth  from  the  mountains,  who  gave  us  no  word, 
but  went  back  to  his  post,  climbed  the  fence  and  turned 
his  gaze  again  toward  the  south. 

Some  time  after  that  we  were  shooting  at  a  mark,  the 
weapon  being  a  rifle  of  small  bore  (a  squirrel  rifle),  the 
object  a  sheet  of  paper  on  a  plank  against  a  distant  tree. 
u  Strange  amusement  that  for  children  !  "  some  may  say. 
True,  but  I  speak  of  Kentucky  in  the  'sixties.  Again 
some  defiant  boy  singled  out  Red-Head  and  challenged 
him  to  join  us  —  dared  him  to  shoot.  Indifferent  as  he 
had  been  in  the  jumping  contest  did  he  seem  in  this. 
Leaning  the  gun  we  used  against  the  fence,  he  stepped 
to  the  line,  and  before  we  could  anticipate  his  object, 
from  an  inside  pocket  of  his  jacket  he  drew  a  bright 

26? 


The  Challenge  of  Red-Head 

revolver.  Raising  it,  without  aiming,  he  fired  and 
waited  the  result.  Several  boys  sprang  to  the  mark ; 
there  was  the  bullet  hole  in  the  plank  far  above  the 
wildest  shot  we  had  made.  A  cry  of  derision,  a  series 
of  cat  mews,  a  chorus  of  sarcastic  jeers,  rang  upon  the 
air. 

"  Better  git  a  rest,"  sneered  one. 

"  Fools  !  "  he  said,  "  thet  's  the  mark  ter  shoot  at. 
Ef  yo'  wah  raised  in  the  moun'ns,  an*  would  shoot  at  a 
whole  sheet  ov  papah,  they  'd  take  yoah  gun  away  an* 
drive  yo'  off.  Thet 's  the  mark,  I  say . —  one  bullet  hole 
fer  the  centre  an'  five  in  a  ring  jest  'roun'  et."  As  he 
spoke  hjs  arm  was  raised  again,  and  as  fast  as  the  trigger 
could  be  pulled  came  five  shots.  Again  we  sprang  to 
the  distant  mark,  and  there,  in  a  close  circle,  equal  dis-' 
tances  apart,  was  a  ring  of  little  holes.  I  recall  the 
exact  words  he  had  used,  "  One  bullet  hole  fer  the  cen 
tre  an'  five  in  a  ring  jest  'roun'  et." 

But,  alas  !  our  challenge  resulted  in  disaster  to  the 
expert  marksman.  No  boy  of  the  Stringtown  school 
was  permitted  to  carry  a  pistol.  That  weapon  was 
positively  prohibited  by  Professor  Drake,  who  considered 
the  carrying  of  a  pistol  by  a  boy  to  be  sufficient  cause 
for  expulsion.  We  had  been  deeply  absorbed  in  our 
sport,  and  as  the  hand  that  held  the  spent  revolver 
dropped,  the  boy  who  held  it  was  taken  by  the  shoulder 
in  the  firm  grasp  of  our  teacher,  who,  unperceived  by  us, 
had  from  behind  joined  the  group,  every  eye  of  which 
had  been  fixed  on  the  mark. 

Red-Head  was  led  away  by  his  captor,  while  we  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  arrest,  but  who  had  escaped, 
hung  our  heads. 

In  a  moment  the  bell  calling  us  to  the  room  rang,  and 
knowing  that  trouble  was  in  the  air,  we  sought  our 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

places.  There  sat  the  teacher ;  near  him  the  empty  re 
volver  lay  on  the  table,  and  before  him  stood  the  captive 
child  awaiting  the  outcome  of  the  crime  he  had  com 
mitted  in  thus  breaking  the  strictest  rule  of  our  village 
school. 

Then  spoke  Professor  Drake,  addressing  the  culprit : 
"  It  is  against  the  rules  of  this  school  to  carry  concealed 
weapons.  Some  years  ago  a  boy  was  killed  by  his  class 
mate  in  this  very  yard,  and  since  that  no  pistol  has  been 
allowed  in  school.  I  must  punish  you  severely,  but  be 
fore  doing  so  it  is  but  just  that  I  should  ask  why  you 
have  disgraced  yourself  by  breaking  this  rule  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  disgraced  myself,  an'  I  hain't  hurt  nobody." 

u  But  you  surely  know  that  it  is  wrong  to  carry  a 
weapon  like  this." 

"  It  ain't  wrong  fer  me  ter  carry  et." 

u  It  is  never  right  to  carry  a  pistol  in  a  civilised  com 
munity." 

"  Teachah,  ef  yo'  knew  my  story,  yo'  would  n't  say 
et 's  wrong  fer  me  ter  carry  a  gun.  Ef  yo'  hed  been 
through  what  I  hev,  an'  looked  fer  what 's  com'n',  yo'  d 
carry  one  too." 

This  was  said  half  persuasively,  half  defiantly.  The 
head  of  the  boy  was  raised  proudly ;  no  appearance  of 
shame  bespread  his  face,  no  drooping  glance.  "  I  hed 
the  gun  in  my  pocket  when  I  fought  thet  feller "  (he 
pointed  to  me),  "  an'  did  n't  use  et.  I  don't  intend  ter 
shoot  boys.  I  hain't  but  one  use  fer  et,  an'  when  the 
time  comes  I  '11  need  the  gun  awful  bad,  teachah." 

"  Tell  me  your  story." 

u  Et 's  too  long,  an*  don't  consarn  nobody  but  me." 

"  Tell  me  why  it  is  right  for  you  to  carry  a  pistol.  I 
command  it.  Tell  me  all." 


264 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

RED-HEAD'S  STORY  OF  THE  FEUD 

u  T  *M  from  the  moun'ns,  I  am.  I  don't  know  jest  now 
JL  we'uns  came  ter  live  thar,  an'  et  don't  make  no 
diff'r'nce.  We  always  lived  in  the  moun'ns  ov  East 
Kaintuck.  Our  house  w'an't  no  great  shakes,  et  jest 
hed  two  rooms  an'  a  mud  chimney.  Thet's  all. 

"  Dad  said,  said  he,  one  day  when  I  wah  a  little  thing, 
an'  he  pinted  back  over  the  hog-back  hill  b'hind  the 
cabin  — *  Don't  none  ov  yo'  children  cross  the  divide. 
Keep  this  side  ov  Bald  Hill,  fer  thar's  a  feud'  twixt  Hoi- 
combs  and  we-uns.'  I  can't  remember  when  he  fust 
said  this,  et  war  when  I  war  too  little  ter  remember,  but 
he  said  et  often.  An'  we  never  crost  the  hog-back  hill, 
none  ov  us,  fer  dad  said  thet  the  feud  war  off  till  the 
Holcombs  er  we-uns  broke  et  by  cross'n'  the  divide. 
An'  es  we  grew  bigger,  brother  Jim  an'  me,  mam  kept 
us  up  in  the  story  ov  the  feud. 

" '  Ef  et  ever  happens  thet  the  feud  es  on  ag'in,'  se£ 
she,  '  thar  won't  be  no  end  ter  et  es  long  es  thar  es  a 
Holcomb  er  a  Nordman  livin'.'  She  said  et  hed  been 
one  ov  the  bloodiest  feuds  ov  the  moun'ns,  an'  more  'n  a 
dozen  hed  been  killed  on  each  side,  an'  she  showed  us 
the  row  ov  Holcombs  on  one  side  ov  the  graveyard  an' 
the  row  of  we-uns  on  tother  side.  I  axed  her  what  thq 
feud  war  'bout,  but  she  said,  said  she  :  1 1  don't  jest  re-, 
member.  Et  b'gun  befoah  I  come  inter  the  family,  bur 

26$ 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

et  don't  make  no  diff  Vnce  'bout  the  beginning  thet  don't 
consarn  us.' 

"  An'  dad,  he  did  n't  talk  much  'bout  et  neither,  but 
when  brother  Jim  an'  I  could  hold  a  gun  he  taught  us 
all  'bout  shootin'  !  c  Et  air  fer  bus'ness  p'r'aps,'  he  said  ; 
1  ef  the  feud  begins  ag'in  yo'  boys  '11  be  in't.'  There  ain't 
no  mo'ah  ter  say,  teachah,  'bout  the  feud,  an'  I  don't 
know  nuthin'  mo'ah.  Jim  an'  me  1'arned  ter  shoot,  an' 
et  did  n't  make  much  difference  what  et  war  we  shot  at, 
we  hit  et.  An'  dad  grew  monstrous  proud  ov  us,  an' 
one  day  I  heerd  him  say  ter  mam  thet  he  did  n't  care 
now  ef  the  feud  war  on  ag'in.  But  he  kept  tellin'  me  'n 
Jim  ter  keep  this  side  ov  Bald  Hill,  an'  we  did.  Jim 
war  'bout  two  years  older  then  me,  teachah. 

"  But  one  day  we  started  a  young  deer,  an'  et  run  fer 
the  divide.  We  hed  n't  no  guns,  fer  we  war  out  fishin', 
but  es  et  war  a  leetle  critter,  we  started  ter  try  an'  ketch 
et  runnin'.  We  did  n't  notice  whar  et  run,  an'  befoah  I 
knew  et,  we  war  goin'  down  the  moun'n  tother  side  ov 
Bald  Hill.  Jim  war  ahead  an'  mighty  close  on  the  deer 
when  bang  went  a  gun  in  the  thicket,  an'  Jim  dropped." 

Here  the  boy  stopped,  hung  his  head  and  drew  his 
coarse  sleeve  across  his  eyes.  "  'Scuse  me,  teachah," 
he  said,  "  I  ain't  used  t'  talkin',  an'  et  makes  me  tired  t' 
speak  so  'long." 

In  a  moment  he  resumed:  "  I  run  t'  Jim  an'  raised 
his  head,  but  et  war  no  use,  he  did  n't  know  me.  He 
war  dead.  A  minie  ball  hed  gone  in  jest  above  one  ear 
an*  out  jest  below  tother.  I  could  n't  do  nuthin'  fer  Jim, 
an'  so  I  drapped  him  an'  started  ter  sneak  fer  the  thicket. 
I  wanted  ter  see  who  done  the  shootin',  an'  I  did  sec, 
too.  I  did  n't  go  straight  for  the  spot,  but  snook  ter  the 
right  an'  got  inter  a  hollah,  an'  then  I  crept  up  till  I 
come  near  ter  the  place  the  smoke  come  from,  but  thar 

266 


Red-Head's  Story  of  the  Feud 

want  no  one  thar.  Jest  then  I  looked  back,  an'  slippin* 
'long  the  hillside,  I  saw  a  man  stooped  over  tryin'  ter 
keep  the  laurel  thicket  'twixt  Jim  an'  hisself.  He  got 
'twixt  an'  old  stump  an'  Jim  an'  cocked  his  gun  an' 
looked  up.  He  war  a  monstrous  tall  man,  Old  Holcomb. 
He  could  see  Jim  a-layin'  thar,  but  he  didn't  seem  ter 
care  fer  him,  an'  I  saw  thet  he  war  lookin'  fer  me. 
Lord,  teachah,  ef  I  hed  only  hed  my  gun  then  ! 

u  But  es  I  did  n't,  I  jest  laid  low  an'  then  slipped  inter 
the  briars,  an'  sneaked  'roun'  the  hill  an'  made  fer  home. 
"  Mam  an'  dad  an'  little  Sis  war  sittin'  at  the  table 
eatin'  supper  when  I  stepped  inter  the  door.     4Whar's 
Jim  ?  '   mam  axed. 
"  '  Shot !  ' 

"  Dad  got  up  an*  pinted  ter  Bald  Hill.    *  Hev  yo'  boys 
crost  the  divide  ? ' 
"'Yes.' 

"  *  Es  he  dead  ? ' 

u  I  jest  put  a  finger  on  each  side  ov  my  head.  c  Minie 
ball,'  was  all  I  said.  '  He 's  lyin'  jest  over  the  hog 
back/ 

"  Dad  turned  ter  the  fireplace  an'  took  down  his  big 
b'ar  gun  —  the  big  b'ar  gun  — c  I  '11  bring  Jim  home.  Yo' 
folks  keep  in  the  cabin  till  I  come.  Don't  yo'  go  out.' 

"  '  The  feud  's  on  ag'in,'  war  all  mam  said.  But  she 
blew  the  coals  up  an'  commenced  ter  run  bullets  fer 
the  big  gun  an*  she  set  me  ter  cleanin'  up  the  rifle  an* 
revolvers. 

u  But  dad  did  n't  come  home  till  long  after  dark,  an* 
he  did  n't  come  home  then  nuther.  Sis  an'  I  went  ter 
sleep,  but  I  guess  mam  did  n't,  fer  'bout  daylight  I  war 
waked  by  a  knock  on  the  door,  an'  es  I  opened  my  eyes 
I  saw  she  war  dressed.  She  took  down  the  ir'n  bar  an* 
let  dad  in ;  he  hed  Jim  in  his  arms.  c  The  feud  's  on,' 

267 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

he  said.  l  Thar  '11  be  a  grave  dug  'cross  the  hill  too 
when  we  bury  Jim.  Et  war  a  long  shot,  but  I  caught 
him  through  the  winder.' 

" '  Who  'd  yo'  git  ?  '  asked  mam. 

"  '  Don't  know  whether  't  is  the  old  man  er  the  boy, 
they  're  'bout  the  same  size,  but  et's  one  ov  'em.' 

"  Well,  teachah,  we  buried  Jim  in  our  row,  an'  next 
day  Sam  Holcomb  war  buried  in  them.  Then  we  all 
got  ready  ter  kill  an'  be  killed.  Thar  wa'n't  much  ter 
do  but  ter  kiver  the  winders  close,  ter  keep  the  guns 
clean  an'  then  sneak  in  an'  out  the  house.  Et  war 
watch  an'  sneak  an'  hunt  an'  sneak.  We  killed  all  our 
dogs  'ceptin'  one  fice  thet  stayed  in  the  house  ter  bark, 
fer  they  hedn't  sense  'nough  ter  keep  out  ov  sight,  an'  ef 
a  dog  war  seen  in  the  bushes  et  would  give  us  away. 
One  night  mam  war  shot  by  a  ball  that  come  through 
the  winder.  Et  war  jest  a  little  crack,  but  big  'nough 
ter  let  light  out  an'  a  bullet  in.  She  wa'n't  killed  dead, 
but  she  could  n't  live  long,  an'  she  knowed  et.  c  Red,' 
she  said  ter  me,  '  take  good  care  ov  little  Sissie.  She 
air  too  young  to  fight,  but  when  she  's  grown  up  she  '11 
marry  an'  raise  a  family  ter  help  carry  on  the  feud.  An' 
Red,'  she  said,  l  make  me  one  promise.' 

"  '  Go  on,  mam,  I  '11  do  et.' 

" '  Don't  yo'  let  up  on  the  feud,  Red.  Et  must  be 
ter  the  end.' 

" '  Yo'  need  n't  make  me  promise  thet,'  1  said,  c  I  '11 
fight  et  out.' 

"  c  I'd  die  happy  ef  your  dad  were  livin'  ter  help  yo'.' 

"  '  Never  mind  dad,'  I  said.  4  Thar  air  only  one  feller 
left  over  the  hill,  the  old  man.  Dad  shot  three  ov  'em 
before  they  got  him,  an'  I  shot  one,  an'  we  can't  expect 
ter  hev  all  the  luck.'  " 

Here  the  teacher  interrupted.  "  Why  did  n't  you  go 
268 


Red-Head's  Story  of  the  Feud 

for  a  doctor  ?  Perhaps  your  mother's  wound  might  not 
have  been  necessarily  fatal." 

"  Doctor  nuthin'.  Thar  wa'n't  no  doctor  'n  fifteen 
miles  ov  our  place ;  b'sides,  ef  I  hed  opened  the  door 
thet  night  I  'd  hev  got  a  ball  too.  Yo'  don't  know 
nuthin'  'bout  the  moun'ns  an'  the  feuds,  teachah." 

"  You  say  that  your  father  had  been  killed  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  fergot  ter  mention  et,  but  he  hed  been  shot 
down  'bout  a  month  befoah.  Next  mornin'  I  shut  Sis 
in  the  cabin  an'  sneaked  over  ter  Jones'  an'  axed  him 
ter  come  an'  bury  mam  ;  an'  I  tell  yo',  teachah,  things 
war  monstrous  quiet  'bout  our  place  fer  a  time  after  thet. 
Sis  hed  1'arned  ter  keep  still  an'  stay  in  the  house.  She 
war  only  'bout  three  years  old,  but  she  hed  seen  some 
bad  dahs,  teachah,  an'  hed  lots  ov  sense  fer  sech  a  little 
thing.  Jim  war  shot,  dad  war  shot,  an'  mam  war  shot, 
but  thar  wa'n't  but  one  Holcomb  left.  An'  it  war  Sis 
er  me  next  ef  I  could  n't  git  him  first  !  " 

For  the  second  time  the  narrator  stopped  and  drew 
his  coarse  sleeve  slowly  across  his  eyes.  "  Et  makes  me 
tired,  I  says,  ter  talk  so  long,  teachah,  but  I  '11  git  my 
wind  an'  be  rested  in  a  minit."  Then  he  continued  : 
"  I  war  too  little  ter  use  the  big  gun,  an'  hed  ter  trust 
to  the  pistol  er  the  light  rifle,  an  et  wa'n't  fair  now,  fer 
Tom  Holcomb  war  the  tallest  man  I  ever  seed,  an*  he 
shot  with  a  Springfield  musket.  But  when  a  feller  's  in 
a  feud,  et  don't  make  no  difference  'bout  the  size.  Et 's 
kill  er  git  killed.  I  did  what  I  promised  mam  I  Jd  do 
es  best  I  could.  I  hed  n't  much  chance,  fer  I  hed  ter 
slip  in  an'  out  the  cabin  an'  watch  fer  my  own  life  an' 
care  fer  Sis  an'  try  ter  git  a  bead  on  Holcomb.  But 
't  wa'n't  no  use,  things  war  ag'in  me.  I  slipped  out  one 
mornin'  through  the  back  door  ter  git  some  meal,  fer 
thar  wa'n't  a  bite  ov  bread  in  the  place,  an'  when  I  came 

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Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

back  the  front  door  war  wide  open.  When  I  saw  thet 
open  door  I  feared  et  meant  trouble.  I  crept  inter  the 
house  the  back  way,  an'  thar  in  the  open  door,  huggin' 
her  little  rag  doll,  sat  Sissie.  I  could  see  the  head  ov 
the  doll  over  her  shoulder.  The  sun  war  shinin'  bright 
in  her  face,  her  back  war  toward  me,  her  little  head 
leaned  ag'in  the  side  ov  the  door,  an'  she  looked  es 
sweet  es  a  pictur.  c  Sis,'  I  said,  c  Sissie,  yo'  mussent 
sit  in  the  door;  Tom  Holcomb '11  git  you,  Sis.'  But 
she  did  n't  say  nuthin'.  '  Guess  she  Js  asleep,'  I  thought, 
an'  slipped  ter  her  side  an'  jumped  at  her  an'  cried, 
*Boo!  Boo!'  But  she  didn't  move." 

The  boy's  head  dropped  again,  his  chest  heaved  con 
vulsively.  Sob  after  sob  broke  the  air.  Suddenly  con 
trolling  himself,  he  defiantly  turned  toward  us  boys. 
"  I  '11  thrash  the  feller  what  laughs  et  me.  I  ain't  a 
coward  ef  I  did  cry." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he  brushed  away  a 
tear  from  his  own  eyes,  for  the  affecting  climax  came  so 
suddenly  as  to  unnerve  him  too,  tc  no  one  blames  you 
for  crying.  I  condemn  myself  for  leading  you  to  tell 
in  public  this  pathetic  story  of  your  life.  It  is  I  who 
am  in  fault,  but  I  did  not  know  what  was  coming.  It 
is  a  shame." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  "  et  war  a  shame  ter  shoot 
sech  a  chunk  ov  lead  through  sech  a  little  bit  ov  a  girl. 
Thet  bullet  war  big  'nough  ter  kill  a  b'ar.  But  I  '11  git 
even  with  Holcomb  yit." 

"  I  meant  that  it  is  a  shame  that  I  let  you  tell  this 
sorrowful  story  here." 

"  Et  ain't  done  yet,  teachah.  The  little  thing  hed 
opened  the  door  ter  sit  in  the  sunshine,  an'  a  bullet  the 
size  ov  your  thumb  hed  ploughed  through  her  chest  an' 
out  her  back.  I  picked  her  up  an'  laid  her  on  the  bed, 

270 


Red-Head's  Story  of  the  Feud 

an'  then  took  an'  old  satchel  an'  put  a  few  things  inter 
et  (I  hed  n't  much)  an'  carefully  wrapped  up  the  little 
bloody  doll,  an'  put  thet  on  top.  I  hain't  got  nuthin' 
else  now  ter  mind  me  ov  Sissie  but  thet  doll.  I  barred 
the  front  door  an'  slipped  out  the  back  way,  out  an'  over 
the  spur  ter  Jones's  house.  I  took  my  pistol  —  thet 's 
the  very  pistol  "  (he  pointed  to  the  weapon  on  the  table) 
"  an'  left  the  guns  an'  everything  else. 

" c  Et  ain't  fair,'  I  said  ter  Jones ;  c  Holcomb's  too 
big  fer  me.' 

" '  Goin'  ter  run  away  ?  '  said  Jones. 

cc  No  ;  goin'  ter  go  away  ter  grow  bigger.  Tell  Tom 
Holcomb  thet  ef  he  wants  me  I  '11  be  in  Stringtown  on 
the  Pike." 

" '  An'  ef  he  don't  foller  yo'  ? ' 

"  c  When  I  'm  big  'nough  ter  handle  a  Springfield  gun 
I  '11  be  back  ag'in.  Tell  him  the  feud  's  on  till  one  er 
the  other  ov  us  es  shot.' 

"  c  An'  Sissie  !  air  yo'  goin'  ter  leave  Sissie  ? '  "  said 
Jones. 

"  *  She  don't  need  me  no  longer.  Yo  '11  find  her  on 
the  bed  in  the  cabin.  Bury  her  in  the  row,  'longside 
ov  mam.  I  shan't  go  ter  the  buryin',  fo'  I  can't  run  no 
risk  ov  old  Holcomb's  gun.' 

"  Thet  's  all,  teachah." 

Drawing  the  child  to  his  side,  Professor  Drake  gently 
smoothed  the  unkempt  red  hair,  parting  it  with  his 
fingers  in  the  place  a  part  should  be,  but  seldom  before 
had  been  seen.  Then  he  spoke  : 

u  And  you  expect  Mr.  Holcomb  to  follow  you  to 
Stringtown  ?  " 

u  I  looks  fer  him  every  mink,  an'  I  hev  ter  watch 
sharp.  Thar  ain't  no  other  head  like  mine,  an'  es  soon 
es  he  sots  eyes  on  et  he'll  draw  his  gun.  Thet 's  why 

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Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

I  sits  on  the  fence-post  watchin'  the  pike  ;  ef  I  cotch 
sight  ov  him  first,  et  '11  help  me  powerful  much." 
"  If  he  observes  you  before  you  see  him?  " 
u  Holcomb's  a  dead  shot,  teachah,  an'  my  head  's  a 
good  mark.  Thar  ain't  much  chance.  Teachah,"  he 
continued,  "  please  give  me  back  my  pistol  an'  give  me 
leave  ter  carry  et,  fer  I  needs  et  bad.  I  hain't  no  other 
friend  this  side  ov  the  graveyard  in  the  moun'ns.  Ef 
I  fights  any  ov  these  'ere  boys  I  '11  use  my  fists  er  a 
stick  er  a  stone.  I  '11  bite  an'  scratch,  like  the  girls  do, 
I  '11  pull  hair  like  thet  feller  "  (he  pointed  to  me).  u  I 
promise  thet  I  '11  not  use  a  gun  lessen  Holcomb  comes. 
Ef  he  does,  et  '11  mean  the  endin'  of  the  feud  one  way 
er  tother,  an'  ef  I  hain't  no  gun  et  '11  be  his  way  sure. 
I  'm  a  bad  boy,  teachah,  es  yo'  folks  looks  et  me," but 
yo'  hain't  seed  things  es  I  've  seed  'em.  Yo'  wa'n't 
raised  in  the  moun'ns,  an'  none  ov  yo'  hain't  no  feud 
ter  fight  out.  Please  give  me  back  my  gun.  I  '11  jest 
set  on  the  fence  and  won't  bother  nobody." 

Deeply  moved  by  Red-Head's  dramatic  story,  Prof. 
Drake  stood  for  some  moments  in  silent  meditation. 
"  I  perceive  there  comes  a  time,"  he  mournfully  said 
to  himself,  u  when  duty  demands  that  wrong  be  con 
tinued  in  behalf  of  wrong  that  has  been  established. 
Alas,  the  law  under  which  these  people  live  makes  that 
which  we  call  wrong  into  what  they  call  right !  It  is 
wrong  for  me  to  allow  this  boy  to  carry  a  pistol  with 
murder  in  his  heart,  and  surely  that  is  the  object.  But 
a  greater  wrong  it  would  be  to  render  him  defenseless, 
for  he  might  in  that  condition  encounter  his  enemy,  the 
misguided  armed  man,  who  would  shoot  him  on  sight." 
Then  taking  the  revolver  from  the  table,  the  teacher 
handed  it  to  the  pleading  boy.  "  Child,"  he  gently 
said,  "as  a  special  privilege,  I  give  you  permission  to 


Red-Head's  Story  of  the  Feud 

carry  this  weapon,  which  you  need  to  defend  your  life, 
but  I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Nordman  concerning  this  affair, 
and  endeavour  to  reach  and  disarm  Mr.  Holcomb,  or  at 
least  prevail  on  him  to  keep  away  from  Stringtown." 

u  Nordman  knows  all  'bout  it,  and  he  takes  my  part. 
But  yo'  needn't  try  t'  stop  Holcomb.  He  knows  every 
hole  in  the  moun'ns,  an*  he  don't  intend  t'  quit  'till  the 
feud's  fought  t'  the  end.  No  one  kin  edge  in.  It's 
him  an'  me  fer  et,  teachah." 


273 


CHAPTER  XLV 
"TELL  ME,  JENNIE,  TELL  ME  WHAT  IT  is" 

THE  fall  session  passed,  the  holidays  came  and 
went,  the  spring  session  had  nearly  worn  Itself 
away.  The  evil  predictions  concerning  us  three  chil 
dren  had  passed  from  my  mind,  and  no  longer  disturbed 
over  the  Red-Head  Boy,  I  looked  forward  to  the  coming 
autumn,  when  I  hoped  that  my  life  in  the  Stringtown 
school  would  terminate.  The  session's  close  ap 
proached,  Susie  in  loving  friendship  with  all  the  girls, 
my  antagonist  without  a  friend  among  the  boys.  Well 
do  I  remember  that  fateful  last  morning. 

That  morning,  of  which  the  date  is  lost  and  need  not 
be  revived,  for  the  story  I  have  to  relate  docs  no  credit 
to  any  day,  the  girls  of  the  Stringtown  school  were,  I 
perceived  as  I  sat  in  place  before  school  opened,  in  sub 
dued  excitement.  Whispering  groups  in  earnest  con 
versation  indicated  that  something  of  importance  had 
occurred  to  disturb  them.  When  a  boy  chanced  to 
approach  the  lips  would  cease  to  move,  but  would  be 
gin  to  buzz  again  on  his  departure,  indicating  that  the 
subject-matter  was  fit  only  for  girls  to  hear  I  sat  alone 
in  my  place,  and  so  did  Red-Head.  We  two  boys  had 
troubles  of  our  own.  Red-Head  and  I  had  met  again, 
had  "  mouthed  "  each  other,  had  parted  to  await  by  ap 
pointment  the  ending  of  the  session  now  near  at  hand. 
I  knew  full  well  that  Professor  Drake  would  not  over 
look  a  second  fight,  and  my  antagonist  knew  that  Mr. 

274 


"Tell  me,  Jennie,  what  it  is'1 

Nordman  had  promised  that  he  should  be  obedient  and 
break  no  rules.  He  sulked  in  his  place,  scowling  at 
whomsoever  chanced  to  meet  his  gaze,  while  I  sat 
glumly  in  my  place  meditating  over  the  coming  fight. 
The  prediction  of  the  old  negro  Cupe  sprang  to  my 
mind  ;  I  looked  across  the  room  to  the  girls.  Susie 
was  not  in  her  place.  Then  it  was  that  I  first  chanced 
to  observe  the  whispering  group  with  heads  close  pressed 
together,  and  as  the  moments  passed  I  sat  silently  eyeing 
them,  studying  their  movements,  and  at  last  I  concerned 
myself  enough  to  wonder  what  could  have  occurred  to 
create  such  subdued  excitement  in  their  ranks. 

The  door  opened,  and  Susie  tripped  into  the  room. 
I  watched  her  as  she  passed  down  the  open  space  before 
the  door,  across  and  past  the  spot  where  once  the  teacher 
had  marked  two  circles  on  the  floor  for  Red-Head  and 
me  to  stand  in,  until  she  reached  a  group  of  girls  who, 
on  opposing  seats,  sat  with  heads  together,  leaning  across 
the  aisles.  These  girls  shrank  back,  gazing  intently  into 
her  face  as  she  drew  near,  but  made  no  offer  to  return 
the  pleasant  greeting.  A  cold  stare  was  their  response, 
and  beneath  it  the  smile  on  Susie's  face  disappeared. 
She  was  only  a  child,  but  no  words  were  necessary  to 
tell  to  her  the  story  carried  by  those  unfeeling  eyes  and 
shrinking  forms.  She  passed  along  with  downcast  face 
her  satchel  of  books  hanging  upon  her  arm.  From  the 
cheek  toward  me  the  blood  had  fled,  leaving  a  surface 
white  as  dough  ;  I  saw  those  roses  fade  as  I  have  some 
times  seen  a  beautifully  tinted  evening  cloud  deaden  and 
turn  to  leaden  hue.  Down  the  aisle  toward  her  own 
desk  passed  the  child  while  on  either  side,  peering  at  her 
as  girls  who  have  the  devil  in  their  hearts  only  can,  sat 
those  Stringtown  girls.  But  Susie  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  although  it  could  be  seen  that  she 

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Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

felt  the  touch  of  those  scornful  eyes.  Her  deskmate, 
Jennie  Manley,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  "upright" 
Mr.  Manley,  sat  in  her  place ;  but  as  Susie  approached 
she  too  drew  away  as  though  the  touch  of  the  garment 
of  the  approaching  girl  might  be  unclean.  The  child 
stopped  short,  the  satchel  of  books  slipped  from  her 
nerveless  arm  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  Pleadingly  she 
raised  her  clasped  hands,  then  dropped  into  her  seat  and 
imploringly  turned  her  pallid  face  upon  her  deskmate. 
Her  form  seemed  to  draw  into  itself  as  does  the  delicate, 
shrinking,  sensitive  plant  when  touched  by  a  rough  hand. 
Her  words  came  low  and  tremulous,  but  I  caught  them  : 

u  Tell  me,  Jennie  !  tell  me  what  it  is  !  " 

For  reply  the  deskmate  drew  back  again.  Then 
came  whispers  from  about ;  the  busy  tongues  of  String- 
town  girls  were  loosed.  Slowly  the  kneeling  child  arose, 
and  turned  back  toward  the  door;  she  did  not  stop  to 
pick  up  the  fallen  satchel ;  a  rosy  apple  touched  by 
her  foot  rolled  across  the  floor  to  the  rostrum,  but  she 
heeded  it  not.  The  whispers  grew  louder  as  she  passed 
back  along  that  vacated  aisle,  and  then  as  she  reached 
the  middle  of  the  open  space  before  the  door,  one  tongue, 
bolder  and  more  vicious  than  the  others,  sang  in  sarcastic 
monotone,  "  Only  Susie,  Nigger  Susie,  Nigger  Susie  !  " 

Had  the  girl  been  instantly  petrified  she  could  not 
have  stopped  more  suddenly.  A  pallor  came  over  her 
face.  Her  beseeching  eyes  wandered  about  from  one 
to  another  as  if  appealing  for  help  from  a  sympathetic 
soul,  but  no  response  other  than  a  malicous  stare  met 
her  gaze,  and  she  turned  again  toward  the  door. 

The  Red-Headed  Boy  of  Nordman  sprang  across  the 
floor  and  threw  his  left  arm  about  the  shrinking  girl, 
who  dropped  her  head  convulsively  upon  his  shoulder. 
Raising  his  clenched  fist,  he  shook  it  viciously  at  the 

276 


"Tell  me,  Jennie,  what  it  is" 

group  of  girls,  and  shouted  :  "  I  kin  thrash  the  brother 
ov  the  girl  who  said  them  words  ter  this  un  !  "  Giving 
them  no  time  to  reply,  he  continued  :  "  I  kin  thrash 
any  boy  in  school  ov  my  size  !  I  'm  a  bad  boy  from 
the  Kaintuck  moun'ns,  but  I  ain't  bad  'nough  ter  be  a 
brother  ter  sech  a  set  es  you-uns !  I  'm  awful  mean  an' 
bad  !  I  kin  knock  the  eyes  out  ov  a  pig  an'  watch  et 
stumble  'bout ;  I  kin  pull  the  legs  off  ov  a  frog  an' 
watch  et  try  ter  hop  ;  I  kin  break  the  wings  ov  a  bird 
an'  watch  et  flutter  —  them's  the  things  I  kin  do! 
Whatever 's  bad  es  fun  fer  me !  I  kin  do  anything 
mean  thet  any  other  boy  ever  did,  but  I  ain't  mean  er 
bad  'nough  ter  be  a  brother  ter  sech  a  set  es  you-uns  ! 
Bring  on  yer  brothers,  I  says,  bring  'em  one  at  a  time 
er  two  at  a  clip,  an'  I  '11  thrash  the  lot !  I'll  fight  with 
fist  er  teeth  er  club  er  stone  er  gun  !  I  'm  Nordman's 
Red-Head  Boy,  I  am  —  thet's  what  yo'  calls  me,  an'  thet's 
me,  an'  I  'm  a  devilish  bad  un !  I  've  killed  my  man  too 
up  in  the  moun'ns,  an'  I  '11  kill  another  er  get  shot  myself." 

He  stood  defiant,  vicious,  malignant.  The  skin  on 
his  head  began  to  wabble,  as  if  making  sport  of  his 
hearers ;  the  ears  moved  back  and  forth  again  as  they  did 
the  day  I  faced  him  ;  and  I  saw,  too,  that  he  and  Susie 
stood  together  on  the  spot  where  he  and  I  had  once 
stood.  But  my  admiration  for  him  now  supplanted  my 
hatred.  I  sprang  from  my  place  and  moved  toward  the 
two  children,  holding  out  my  hand.  u  Let  me  be  with 
you  and  Susie,"  I  said,  "we  three  together.  Let  us  be 
friends." 

"  Back,"  he  cried,  "  er  I  '11  hit  yo'  !  I  want  no 
friend  in  Stringtown  !  I  hate  yo'  all,  1  hate  everbody 
on  earth.  I  hate  Susie,  too,  'cause  she  's  been  born, 
but  I  takes  up  fer  her  now  not  'cause  I  cares  fer  her, 
but  'cause  yo'  all  hev  thrown  her  down." 

277 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  You  need  not  hate  me  any  longer,  I  am  your  friend 
now  !  "  I  cried. 

"  I  '11  hit  yo'  ef  yo'  don't  go  back  !  I  ain't  no  friend 
of  yourn  ef  yo'  air  ov  mine.  We  '11  fight  et  out  day 
after  school  closes." 

In  a  very  different  tone  he  spoke  now  to  Susie.  u  We 
two  air  alone,  Susie.  Yo'  hain't  no  name  ter  be  proud 
ov,  an'  I  hain't  never  hed  none  at  all.  You  're  c  only 
Susie,'  an'  I  'm  only  Red  Head.  I  '11  take  yo'  home  ter 
nigger  Cupe,  an'  I'll  thrash  the  feller  what  insults  yo' 
ever  ag'in."  He  looked  at  the  girls  and  spoke  in  an 
earnest  tone,  and  with  language  such  as  I  could  not 
have  expected  him  to  use.  "  Girls,  yo'  air  meaner  'n 
pison  an'  sneakiner  'n  snakes.  This  un  hain't  done  yo' 
no  harm,  an'  she  ain't  ter  blame  fer  the  deviltry  ov  the 
coward  ov  a  father  who  desarted  her.  I  hearn  all  yoah 
whisperin'  ;  my  ears  kin  stand  up  an'  cotch  mighty  low 
sounds.  I  know  all  yo'  said,  an'  I  answers  all  ov  yo' 
now.  I  takes  back  what  I  promised  the  teachah  'bout 
shootin'  in  this  school.  I  '11  shoot  the  brother  ov  the 
first  girl  who  even  makes  another  whisper  'gainst  this 
one.  Ef  she  ain't  no  brother  I  '11  shoot  her  dad,  an'  ef 
she  hain't  no  dad  "  —  he  stopped  —  "I  '11  take  et  out 
ov  her  own  hide,  but  I  '11  not  kill  her.  Don't  fergit 
what  I  says,  fer  I  means  et. 

u  Come,  Susie,"  he  continued,  u  we  hev  no  use  fer 
this  place  now.  Yo'  an'  me  air  alone  in  the  world. 
Yo'  air  Susie  nobody  an'  I  am  nobody,  the  Red-Head." 
Turning  to  me,  he  added  :  u  Yo'  wants  ter  shake  hands, 
but  we  two  don't  shake  no  hands  till  after  the  fight. 
I  '11  meet  yo'  in  Indian  Hollah  where  yo'  said  yo  'd  be 
the  mornin'  after  school  shets  up,  but  thar  ain't  ter  be 
no  shakin'  ov  hands." 

Never  again  did  either  he  or  she  enter  the  door  of  the 
Stringtown  school.  278 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

"  STRANGE   SENSATION  THAT,  THE    BEGINNING  OF    LOVE  " 

T^HE  morning  after  the  close  of  school  found  me 
alone,  on  my  way  to  the  appointed  spot.  Spring 
had  opened,  the  blue-grass  was  tall  in  the  fence  corners, 
the  corn  in  the  field  had  been  thinned  and  ploughed 
for  the  first  time,  the  apple  bloom  had  long  since  fallen, 
and  the  approach  of  summer  had  been  heralded  by  sev 
eral  hot  days  that  had  successively  grown  hotter.  I 
stopped  in  the  back  yard  of  our  home  before  crossing 
the  fence  that  bounded  the  pasture,  and  climbed  a  pole 
that  held  aloft  a  box  in  which  a  pair  of  bluebirds  nested. 
Inside  it  were  two  little  ones.  I  took  them  carefully 
out  of  their  nest,  looked  into  their  ugly  open  mouths 
and  replaced  them  not  less  carefully.  Then  I  descended 
and  moved  slowly  onward,  for  I  was  ahead  of  time. 
Next  I  lingered  on  the  edge  of  the  pond  that  had 
been  made  by  damming  the  ravine  that  crossed  the  back 
pasture.  Muskrat  holes  were  in  abundance  along  the 
bank,  and  as  I  stood  quietly,  a  head  rose  in  the  water 
near  my  feet,  then  disappeared  as  the  timid  creature 
caught  sight  of  my  intruding  form. 

War  was  in  my  heart,  but  not  war  against  the  inno 
cent.  More  than  one  rabbit  hopped  from  cover  and 
disappeared  in  the  bushes  as  my  foot  crossed  the  briar 
patch  beyond  the  pasture,  but  no  stone  followed.  From 
the  tip  of  a  fence  post  on  the  right  a  male  partridge 

279 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

sang  u  Bob  White  !  "  to  his  nesting  mate  hidden  near  by 
in  the  grass,  and  from  the  fence  on  my  left  came  the 
answering  cry  of  another  partridge.  Both  birds  were 
singing  undisturbed  when  I  passed  from  sight.  Instinct, 
I  suppose,  led  me  to  thrust  a  long  pole  into  a  hollow  log 
in  the  thick  woods  that  lay  just  beyond  the  briar  patch, 
and  to  my  surprise  out  came  a  snarling  fuzzy  opossum 
that  when  touched  gently  by  the  stick  turned  on  its 
side,  coiled  itself  into  a  ball,  closed  its  eyes,  raised  its 
lips  and  laughed  silently.  I  moved  onward,  leaving  the 
grinning  beast  unharmed.  Through  these  woods  and 
then  over  the  hill  I  passed,  into  the  meadow,  over  the 
next  ridge  and  down  its  side  into  Indian  Hollow.  As  I 
turned  the  top  of  the  last  ridge  I  caught  sight  of  a  dis 
tant  form,  that  of  a  boy  about  my  own  size,  who, 
mounting  the  opposing  ridge,  directed  his  steps  down 
the  slope  toward  the  point  I  was  approaching.  It  was 
Red-Head,  my  expected  antagonist,  who  true  to  his 
agreement,  met  me  in  the  ravine  where  tradition  said 
rested  the  dead  Indians.  Not  a  word  did  either  of  us 
say  as  we  slowly  neared  each  other ;  there  was  no 
necessity  for  words,  we  knew  our  errand.  I  wore  a 
roundabout  jacket,  which,  just  before  we  met,  I  jerked 
off  and  threw  upon  the  ground.  But  he,  the  vicious 
boy  of  recent  days,  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest, 
lifted  his  head  and  made  no  aggressive  movement.  I 
raised  my  fists  and  prepared  for  the  tussle,  but  instead 
of  a  like  movement,  he  said  :  "  Hit  me  in  the  face  ;  hit 
me  hard  !  " 

Nor  did  he  yet  make  any  offensive  motion,  neither  did 
he  offer  to  protect  himself.  "  Hit  me,  I  says  !  Take 
thet  club  !  "  (he  pointed  to  a  heavy  stick.)  "  Beat  n:e 
on  the  head  !  " 

I  gazed  at  him  in  amazement,  but  made  no  movement. 
280 


The  Beginning  of  Love 

I  was  so  near  that  as  he  spoke  I  felt  his  warm  breath  in 
my  face. 

«  I'm  a  fool  an'  yo're  afeard  !  "  he  said.  "  Ef  yo' 
war  in  my  place  an'  me  in  yourn  I  'd  beat  yo'  down 
befoah  a  minit  passed.  I  tell  yo'  I  want  ter  be  beat  in 
the  face,  I  want  ter  be  knocked  down,  an'  yo're  afeard 
ter  do  et." 

"  I  did  n't  come  here  to  beat  a  boy  with  folded  arms ; 
I  came  to  fight." 

"  Yo'  can't  fight  me.  Not  because  I  don't  want  ter 
fight,  fer  I  do,  but  because  I  've  been  a  fool." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  I  promised  not  ter  fight  yo',  but  I  did  n't  promise 
not  ter  show  yo'  thet  I  'm  not  afeard  of  bein'  hurt.  I  '11 
not  strike  back,  but  I  dare  yo'  ter  beat  my  head  with  the 
club.  I  wants  ter  git  paid  fer  bein'  a  fool.  I  '11  not 
flinch.  Hit  me,  I  say." 

"  I  shall  not  do  it.  Who  made  you  promise  not  to 
fight  me  ?  " 

His  eyes  snapped.  "  Nobody  made  me,  I  don't  allow 
no  one  ter  make  me  do  nuthin'.  I  jest  promised  not  ter 
fight  yo',  an'  I  '11  do  what  I  promised." 

u  Whom  did  you  promise  ?  " 

"  Susie." 

He  stood  before  me  with  folded  arms,  this  wild  moun 
tain  boy,  my  mortal  enemy.  "Susie  begged  me  not  ter 
fight  yo',  an*  I  promised.  I  'm  a  fool,  but  not  a 
coward." 

"  Why  did  she  beg  this  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  an'  I  don't  care.  She  says  thet  I 
did  n't  do  yo'  fair  when  yo'  offered  ter  stand  by  me  in 
school.  She  's  a  girl,  an'  she  cried  when  I  told  her  thet 
I  intended  ter  thrash  yo'  ter-day,  an'  I  promised  not  ter 
do  et  i  but  I  hate  yo'  like  sin,  an*  yo'  hate  me,  an'  J 

281 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

know  et.  We  '11  come  tergether  some  day,  yo*  an* 
me." 

u  You  need  n't  talk  so  sure  about  whipping  me,"  I 
replied.  "  You  would  have  had  to  work  before  you 
thrashed  me.  I  don't  thank  Susie  for  interfering  any 
more  than  you  do,"  I  continued,  "  but  if  you  can't  fight 
me  now  I  '11  not  hit  you  now."  He  made  a  grimace  at 
me  and  turned  to  depart.  Disdain  was  in  his  eye, 
hatred  was  in  his  heart,  but  the  wild  beast  had  found  his 
master  in  a  little  girl. 

I  stood  until  he  had  passed  over  the  hill ;  not  once 
did  he  glance  back ;  then  as  his  head  disappeared 
beneath  its  summit  I  sank  upon  the  grass.  A  double 
sensation  came  over  me ;  regret  that  the  boy  had  met 
Susie  was  commingled  with  elation  in  the  thought  that 
she  had  endeavoured  to  prevent  him  from  hurting  me. 
Why  should  I  have  experienced  either  sensation  ?  But 
I  did,  and  my  mental  argument  was  carried  further. 
"Might  not  I  have  hurt  him?"  came  next  in  the 
thought  line  ;  "  and  might  not  her  care  have  been  for 
him  ?  " 

Strange  sensation  that,  the  beginning  of  love  !  I  had 
previously  thought  of  the  girl  as  I  would  of  any  other 
person ;  until  now,  only  as  I  would  of  any  other  child  ; 
but  when  my  antagonist  told  me  of  her  care  for  one  of 
us  two,  and  said  that  she  extracted  from  him  the  promise 
not  to  fight,  I  hated  him  the  more  for  that  fact.  I 
hated  him  now,  strangely  enough,  because  of  Susie  — 
the  girl  I  had  not  seen  for  weeks,  never  in  my  life  had 
tried  to  meet,  and  who  had  not  even  entered  my  thoughts 
since  last  we  met. 

It  seems  almost  like  romance  to  say  that  love,  such  as 
sprang  into  my  heart  when  my  antagonist  named  that 
girl,  could  have  had  place  in  the  soul  of  a  child  of  mjr 

282 


The  Beginning  of  Love 

4ge.  When  I  came  down  that  hillside  to  fight  my  an 
tagonist  I  had  no  thought  of  love  other  than  for  my 
mother,  and  he  whom  I  sought  was  but  an  enemy. 
When  I  passed  back  again  along  that  same  grassy  slope 
he  was  not  only  an  enemy  but  a  rival,  and  I  realised 
that  I  was  in  love  with  the  outcast  girl  of  Stringtown, 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

THE    VOICE    OF    THE    NIGHT 

THE  war  was  long  since  over,  peace  had  come  to  all 
the    land.     No  armed    men  tramped    our    pike. 
The  Blue  and  Grey  had  joined  hands  never  to  unclasp 
them. 

Persistently  since  Mose  the  Jew  gave  us  that  money 
had  I  begged  to  be  permitted  to  leave  the  Stringtown 
school,  but  my  mother  shrank  from  the  parting;  and  so  I 
returned  time  and  again  to  my  accustomed  place  in  the 
front  row  among  the  little  boys. 

But  finally  a  marvellous  change  came  upon  me,  and, 
no  longer  a  dumb  child,  I  moved  toward  the  advanced 
class  of  Stringtown.  Possibly  my  previous  dullness  re 
sulted  from  lack  of  expressive  power,  how  else  can  one 
account  for  the  sudden  awakening  of  my  intellect  ?  Can 
brain  cells  store  up  impressions  that  lie  temporarily  be 
yond  the  will,  but  which  are  destined  some  day  to  open 
and  become  in  an  instant  a  fountain  of  stored  knowledge  ? 
Be  this  as  it  may,  my  mind  opened  to  books,  and  lessons 
of  the  past  came  vividly  before  me.  In  one  year  I 
caught  up  with  my  old  classmates  in  most  studies,  but 
never  in  all,  for  those  twenty-six  rules  in  Brown's  gram 
mar  stood  unlearned  yet  to  shame  me.  My  unexpected 
progress  excited  the  admiration  of  the  old  professor,  and 
at  last  he  asked  my  mother  to  permit  me  to  seek  an 
education  in  the  Nocth. 

284 


The  Voice  of  the  Night 

When,  therefore,  my  mother  finally  agreed,  Professor 
Drake  arranged  for  me  to  enter  a  preparatory  institution 
in  one  of  the  Northern  States  ;  and  finally  I  left  String- 
town,  a  passenger  on  the  old  stage-coach.  Securely 
pinned  in  an  inner  pocket  of  my  shirt  rested  the  amount 
of  money  necessary  for  tuition,  board  and  incidental 
school  expenses,  and  in  another  pocket-book,  an  old 
timer  that  as  a  boy  I  had  usually  carried  empty  except 
ing  a  few  reference  cards  and  clippings  of  newspapers, 
was  enough  money  to  pay  for  my  railroad  ticket  and  my 
meals.  Ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  I  started  out 
in  the  world  for  an  education,  not  schooling  alone  ;  for 
while  education  consists  partly  in  book  lore,  it  more 
largely  comprehends  wisdom  gained  outside  of  books. 
Astute  old  Professor  Drake !  Well  did  he  recognise 
this  fact.  None  knew  better  than  he  that  so  far  as  book 
study  was  concerned  his  Stringtown  school  offered  ad 
vantages  sufficient  to  carry  me  several  years  further  — 
yes,  perhaps  to  the  door  of  the  University. 

I  remember  now  that  he  once  told  mother  in  my 
presence  that  a  boy  should  rub  against  others  and  become 
self-reliant ;  that  he  should  conquer  homesickness  and 
learn  to  stand  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  it  is  best,  if 
he  be  possessed  of  good  habits  and  strength  of  character, 
that  he  should  experience  these  things  before  he  becomes 
a  man.  "  A  child  may  retrieve  himself  in  case  he  makes 
an  error ;  a  wise  child  is  benefited  and  profits  by  mis 
takes.  Give  a  boy  a  chance  to  use  his  mind,  and  then, 
if  he  errs,  as  he  will,  encourage  him  to  correct  the  error 
and  profit  by  the  lesson." 

Prof.  Drake  had  heen  entrusted  with  the  secret  of  our 
new-found  wealth,  and  he  it  was  who  spread  the  infor 
mation  concerning  my  prospective  school  plans,  adroitly 
adding  that  an  unknown  friend  contributed  the  scholar- 

285 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

ship.  Evidently  he  foresaw  that  busy  neighbors  would 
question  aloud  as  to  how  the  Widow  Drew  could  afford 
to  spend  money  enough  to  educate  her  son  abroad  ;  and 
in  order  to  quiet  those  "  busybodies  "  he  had  assumed 
the  "  responsibility  of  the  occasion." 

But  before  I  tell  of  things  that  occurred  after  I  left 
Stringtown  that  autumn,  in  my  round-about  jacket,  my 
long,  baggy  trousers,  my  dress  that  from  shoe  to  cap 
pictured  the  crude  country  boy,  it  is  my  duty  to  relate 
the  incidents  that  occurred  the  day  before  I  left  my  home. 

That  day  I  bade  all  my  friends  in  Stringtown  farewell. 
Never  since  has  parting  from  friend  or  home  been  to  me 
so  full  of  pathos. 

"Sammy,"  said  the  grocer  as  he  thrust  into  my 
pocket  a  present,  that  was  already  tied  neatly,  thus 
showing  that  he  had  thought  of  my  departure,  "  don't 
forget  Stringtown."  And  then  he  squeezed  my  hand 
until  the  ringers  ached.  As  though  I  could  ever  forget 
my  old  home ! 

Venerable  Judge  Elford  held  me  long  by  the  hand, 
looking  me  full  in  the  face.  "  Child,  it  has  been  many 
years  since  my  boy  Charley  went  from  our  village  to  a 
college  in  Ohio ;  he  was  about  your  age  when  he  left 
Stringtown."  Then  his  voice  trembled,  and  he  said  no 
more.  I  knew  the  story  of  his  boy ;  there  was  no  need 
for  him  to  tell  it. 

Nearing  the  home  of  Mr.  Nordman,  the  old  gentle 
man  on  the  pike  south  of  Stringtown,  I  first  caught 
sight  of  a  boy  on  the  fence  by  the  side  of  the  front 
gate.  It  was  Red-Head.  I  drew  near,  he  gazed  in 
tently  up  the  pike,  toward  the  south,  and  gave  me  no 
recognition.  I  opened  the  gate  and  closed  it.  I  could 
have  touched  him  had  I  cared  to  do  so,  but  neither  of 
us  gave  the  other  the  greeting  of  a  glance. 

286 


The  Voice  of  the  Night 

"  And  so  you  start  North  to-morrow  ? "  said  Me 
Nordma 

*•  Yes/' 

"  My  hat,  child ;  come  with  me."  I  handed  it  to 
him,  and  together  we  walked  through  the  house  and 
down  the  back  walk,  back  to  the  graveyard  where  stood 
a  single  shaft.  "  You're  going  North,  my  boy,  and 
you'll  hear  hard  words  about  your  Southern  friends. 
Say  nothing  back  ;  they  of  the  North  do  not  know  us 
of  the  South  ;  say  no  hard  word  back.  We're  whipped, 
Sammy,  but  we  were  men.  My  own  dear  boy,  who 
loved  the  North,  rests  on  yon  side  of  that  shaft.  He 
to  whom  the  South  was  dear  sleeps  on  the  other  side. 
God  grows  the  grass  alike  over  each ;  the  snowdrops 
bloom  no  earlier ;  the  roses'  scent  is  no  sweeter,  over 
the  one  than  over  the  other.  The  wah  is  over,  child." 

The  village  clerk,  Mr.  Wagner,  drew  me  down  by 
his  side  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  bench.  Alas !  his 
chair  was  long  since  whittled  into  bits.  tt  Have  you 
told  us  all  good-bye,  Simmy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  all,  yet." 

He  looked  down  a  moment  and  whittled  the  stick  he 
held  in  his  hand.  u  Sammy,"  he  said,  "  I  have  made 
one  mistake  in  life,  an  honest  man  can  make  none 
greater.  You  will  soon  be  old  enough  to  know  that  to 
be  happy  you  must  be  contented." 

I  looked  at  him  curiously,  for  the  expression  was  a 
conundrum,  while  he  whittled  again ;  then  he  stroked 
my  chin  gently  with  his  lank  forefinger,  and  next  with 
the  tips  of  his  thumb  and  finger,  he  twitched  a  film  of 
down  that  had  appeared  on  my  upper  lip;  then  he 
continued  : 

u  An  old  bachelor  is  not  contented,  Sammy.  He's  a 
misfit,  and  deserves  the  pity  of  mankind,  and  if  he's 

237 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

honest  he  won't  deny  it.  It  don't  make  any  difference 
how  he  dresses,  what  he  eats  or  drinks,  he's  only  a 
human  fragment,  and  if  he  don't  say  it  openly  he  knows 
that  it's  true.  Be  a  man,  Sammy,  and  when  you  fall  in 
love,  as  you  will,  tell  your  sweetheart  you  love  her  j 
then,  when  you  are  able  to  support  her,  marry  her  and 
live  contentedly  and  respectably."  The  lank  clerk 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  but  I  made  no  answer.  We  parted 
and  that  sigh  sounds  yet  in  my  ears  when  I  think  of 
Mr.  Wagner. 

So  I  went  from  end  to  end  of  Stringtown,  bidding 
one  and  another  farewell,  getting  blessings  and  advice  — 
curious  forms  of  advice  and  strange  blessings. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

THE    WEIRD    FORM    AGAINST    THE    SKY 

THE  years  passed,  arid  finally  a  well- formed  and 
well-informed  young  man,  I  came  home  on  top 
of  the  same  old  bus,  driven  by  the  same  driver.  Now 
I  was  ready  to  start  out  into  the  world  to  make  a  living, 
and  I  will  add  that  a  position  had  been  offered  me  in  a 
college  well-known  throughout  our  land,  the  position  of 
assistant  to  the  professor  of  chemistry. 

The  bus  was  late  the  afternoon  I  came  home  for  the 
last  time  from  school.  The  driver  called  me  mister  now 
and  spoke  in  a  formal  manner  that  I  did  not  like.  For 
the  first  time  I  appreciated  that  I  was  no  longer  the 
Sammy  Drew  of  former  years.  In  deference  to  my 
request,  he  checked  his  team  before  my  mother's  door, 
where  I  alighted  ;  before  that  time  I  should  not  have 
presumed  to  ask  that  favour,  nor  would  he  have  granted 
it  to  little  Sammy  Drew. 

I  experienced  a  strange  sensation  that  afternoon,  for 
it  seemed  as  though  Stringtown  no  longer  possessed  me 
as  a  part  of  herself.  I  felt  like  a  visitor.  The  houses, 
too,  were  surely  very  much  smaller  than  when  first  I 
knew  them ;  the  pavements  more  narrow,  the  flat  stones 
of  the  walks  were  uneven  and  very  rough  ;  strange  that 
I  had  never  before  observed  this  last  fact.  A  group  of 
boys  looked  up  at  me  as  I  passed ;  without  a  word  of 
recognition  they  resumed  their  marble  playing.  I  then 
felt  a  mental  depression ;  for  on  that  very  spot  but  a 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

few  years  before,  playing  marbles,  I  kneeled  in  the  dirt, 
a  boy  of  Stringtown  known  to  every  other  boy  and 
knowing  every  boy.  Again  my  heart  sank,  and  yet 
again  and  again,  as  recurring  incidents  or  new  objects 
thrust  upon  me  the  fact  that  four  years  of  absence  may 
produce  great  changes  in  a  village  if  the  absent  one  was 
once  really  a  part  of  the  village.  Only  the  person  who 
looks  with  a  stranger's  eye  will  say  that  change  comes 
not  to  human  homes  and  human  hearts  in  a  sleepy  vil 
lage  that  seems  to  the  indifferent  observer  to  stand 
unchanged  as  decade  after  decade  passes.  Stringtown 
was  no  longer  Stringtown  to  me,  neither  was  I  now  a 
part  of  Strlhgtown's  people.  "  Mr.  Drew  "  and  "  Sam 
uel  "  fell  on  my  ears  and  grated  on  them,  but  there  were 
a  few  exceptions ;  to  some  persons  I  was  still  Sammy. 
The  man  who  first  used  that  familiar  term  was  Judge 
Elford.  He  took  me  by  the  hand  and  looked  me  in  the 
face.  u  Sammy,"  he  said,  "you  did  not  get  into  trouble 
and  did  not  send  for  me,  as  I  feared  you  might  and 
asked  you  to  do  in  case  you  needed  me ;  you  have  my 
admiration.  A  splendid  record  you  have  made,  but  the 
end  is  not  in  sight ;  you  may  yet  require  my  advice. 
Remember,  Sammy,  you  promised  to  follow  it  when  the 
time  arrives." 

I  wandered  into  the  pasture  the  next  evening  to  watch 
the  sun  go  down.  First,  the  contact  part  of  a  cloud 
bank  toward  which  I  walked  was  tinted  with  a  silver 
sheen,  then  as  his  form  passed  down  behind  the  black 
body  a  ribbon  of  silver  formed  upon  the  undulating 
upper  edge,  a  narrow  border  that  from  the  earth  on 
either  side  where  cloud  met  horizon  followed  in  veriest 
detail  its  uplifted  undulations  until  the  edge  was  all  aglow 
in  silver.  The  shadows  fell  about  me  as  I  still  walked 
toward  the  cloud,  following  a  path  that  led  into  the  west, 

290 


The  Weird  Form  against  the  Sky 

The  ribbon  of  changing  colours  faded  out,  and  a  strange, 
gloomy  twilight  seemed  to  fall  upon  me,  although  I 
knew  that  the  sun  had  not  yet  touched  the  horizon  and 
that  the  darkness  was  premature.  Then  deep  down  in 
the  cloud,  from  a  slender  crevice  that  formed  on  the 
instant,  a  silver  ray  burst  forth  and,  lighting  up  a  spot  of 
earth,  illumined  a  motionless  female  form,  before  unseen, 
a  form  that  in  the  sunburst  I  saw  was  that  of  Susie ;  but 
no  longer  a  child,  for  the  fleeting  years  had  brushed  the 
child  away. 

And  then  the  ray  of  sunshine  lifted,  swept  gracefully 
across  the  heavens  as  does  a  mighty  searchlight,  and 
glancing  fell  again  to  the  earth,  striking  now  the  hill 
before  me ;  but  between  the  two  earth  touches  the  sil 
ver  changed  to  red,  and  with  the  crimson  came  tinted 
shadows  that  played  about  the  spot  where  rested  now 
the  red  sun  ray.  But  to  these  I  gave  no  further  notice; 
for  from  where  I  stood  in  the  valley  I  saw  uprise  upon 
the  summit  of  the  hill  a  form  that  seemed  more  than 
twice  human  height.  But  a  moment  shone  the  red  glare, 
for  night  settled  quickly  down,  leaving  only  the  outline 
of  that  form  against  the  uprising  cloud  bank.  Then 
curious  movements  possessed  the  sky  picture ,  the  erect 
form  changed  to  that  of  a  bent  figure ;  the  hands  and 
arms  moved  strangely  out  and  in,  and  at  one  time,  with 
outstretched  arm  leaned  forward,  pointing  into  the  valley 
beyond,  where  lay  the  Stringtown  graveyard.  Nor  was 
that  form  alone,  for  an  object  heretofore  unseen  sped 
from  near  him  and  flitted  along  the  path.  But  as  it  did 
so  the  upright  figure  uttered  a  cry,  shrill,  wild,  like  that 
of  a  savage.  As  the  cry  struck  the  air,  the  small  crea 
ture  scampered  back  affrighted  and  clasped  his  little  arms 
tightly  about  the  long  legs  of  the  erect  being,  whatever 
it  might  have  been.  Too  old  was  I  now  to  fear  goblin 

291 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

or  ghost,  too  skeptical  had  I  become  to  believe  in  spook 
of  any  kind,  else  I  should  have  turned  and  fled  from  the 
spot  ;  for  it  seemed  as  though  that  picture  against  the 
sky  could  not  be  natural.  Then  while  yet  I  gazed  the 
form  suddenly  fell  to  the  ground  and  disappeared  from 
sight ;  and  as  it  did  so  a  wild  cry  floated  to  my  ear,  fol 
lowed  by  a  laugh  that  might  have  been  human,  but  which 
seemed  not  like  any  other  laugh  my  ear  had  ever  heard. 
Then  came  silence. 

Instead  of  turning  back,  as  once  I  should  have  done, 
I  started  forward,  following  the  path  in  the  meadow 
toward  the  summit  of  the  hill ;  but  when  I  neared  the 
spot  where  once  had  stood  the  apparition  nothing  could 
be  seen.  Too  dark  was  it  now  to  distinguish  objects.  I 
lingered  a  moment  and  then  strode  on,  when  my  foot 
struck  a  soft  obstacle  in  the  path.  I  stooped  and  reached 
down.  My  hands  surely  touched  the  form  of  a  child  — 
my  ringers  followed  the  bare  legs  and  feet,  then  passed 
over  the  face  of  a  child.  Raising  the  little  form  in  my 
arms,  I  moved  to  the  right,  toward  the  spot  where  on 
the  hill  I  had  seen  the  girl  standing  in  the  silver  light. 


292 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

SUSIE,    RED-HEAD,    AND    SAMUEL    DREW 

AGAIN  in  the  night  I  stood  before  the  cabin  of 
Cupe,  where  I  hesitated  a  moment  before  the 
door.  I  dreaded  to  meet  the  superstitious  old  negro. 
The  experience  of  that  first  night,  when,  a  child,  I  ran 
terrified  into  the  open  door,  the  incident  that  occurred 
during  the  second  nocturnal  visit,  when  the  strange  night 
voice  spoke  twice  in  my  ear,  coupled  with  the  cold  re 
ception  that  he  gave  me  then,  led  me  to  hesitate  before 
again  entering  that  abode.  And  then  I  remembered 
that  he  had  predicted  my  coming  thrice  in  the  night,  and 
I  had  vowed  that  I  would  not  do  so.  I  felt  now  an  an 
tagonism  toward  him  not  only  on  account  of  his  having 
involved  me  in  his  superstitions,  but  also  because  his 
predictions  had  been  partly  verified.  For  the  third  time, 
notwithstanding  my  assertion  never  to  do  so  again,  I 
stepped  out  of  the  night  into  the  cabin  of  Cupe,  who 
seemed  not  at  all  surprised  at  my  entrance. 

"  Brung  de  gem'n  a  cheer,  Dinah." 

"Don't  concern  yourself  about  me,  Uncle  Cupe;  see 
what  can  be  done  for  this  child,"  and  I  laid  the  boy  on 
the  bed. 

Breath  was  in  the  little  form,  the  muscles  twitched,  the 
limbs  moved  convulsively,  the  hands  closed  and  opened 
irresponsively.  Each  muscle  seemed  to  be  awaiting  its 
turn  to  contract  and  relax.  "  De  chile  hab  be'n  in  pain, 
suah,"  said  Cupe.  I  knew  nothing  about  how  the  child 

293 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

was  hurt  or  how  he  came  to  be  where  I  found  him.  To 
me  the  mystery  was  as  to  how  he  could  have  shrunk  in 
sise.  When  I  saw  him  on  the  hilltop  he  stood  lank  and 
tall.  When  I  stumbled  over  his  form  in  the  path  he 
had  contracted  to  the  little  boy  before  us.  Still,  these 
thoughts  were  of  secondary  importance  now ;  the  child 
needed  help,  and  I  knew  nothing  about  how  to  give  it. 
Not  so  Cupe,  who  quickly  opened  the  waist,  directing 
me  to  rub  the  limbs  and  body  with  the  palms  of  my 
hands.  He  ordered  Dinah  to  make  a  hot  drink,  and 
from  a  flat  bottle  that  he  drew  from  some  secret  place  he 
prepared  a  toddy  that  in  teaspoonful  doses  was  slowly 
poured  into  the  mouth  of  the  child,  who  automatically 
swallowed  it.  Under  the  combined  influence  of  the 
stimulant,  the  hot  tea,  and  the  friction,  the  little  one 
opened  its  eyes  and  regained  consciousness.  The  limbs 
now  ceased  contracting,  the  twitching  muscles  were 
quieted,  and  the  eyes  opened.  Listlessly  the  boy  lay  on 
the  bed,  rolling  his  eyes,  then  I  observed  Cupe's  de 
portment  toward  myself,  and  contrasted  therewith  the 
severity  of  his  demeanour  when  last  I  came  to  his  cabin. 
Now  he  seemed  intent  on  serving  me;  he  spoke  respect 
fully  and  with  great  deference;  before,  he  had  been 
domineering  and  insolent.  "  Foah  yeahs  hab  pass', 
Ma'se  Samuel,  an'  at  las'  yo'  hab  come  back  t'  String- 
town.  An'  how  does  de  ole  town  look  t'  yo'  now  ?  " 

I  remembered  the  prediction  he  had  made  concerning 
the  change  that  time  might  bring  in  my  affections  for  the 
village,  —  a  change  that  I  now  realised  had  already  to  an 
extent  occurred. 

"  I  find  many  changes  in  Stringtown,"  I  answered. 

"  An'  am  yo'  suah  de  changes  am  not  in  yo'selb  ?  " 
Then,  without  waiting  for  me  to  answer,  he  added : 
<c  How  'bout  de  gearls  ?  Hab  yo'  foun'  a  sweetheaht  in 
4c  Norf  ?  "  294  ' 


Susie,  Red-Head,  and  Samuel  Drew 

"  I  have  not,  Cupe.  I  told  you  that  I  should  corne 
back  in  four  years,  —  see  —  "  I  drew  from  an  inner 
pocket  the  metal  case  that  he  had  handed  me  when,  four 
years  since,  he  pushed  me  out  of  the  cabin  into  the  night. 
u  I  carry  this  with  me,  Cupe." 

Before  he  could  reply  came  a  knock  on  the  door,  and 
without  waiting  to  be  ushered  in  the  intruder  lifted  the 
latch  and  entered. 

The  Red-Head  Boy  of  Nordman,  but  no  longer  a 
boy.  Tall  and  lank,  at  least  a  head  taller  than  myself, 
he  stood  before  us  lithe  and  supple,  red-faced  and  impu 
dent.  I  sat  by  the  bed  rubbing  the  forehead  of  the 
child,  who  had,  as  yet,  said  not  a  word.  But  as  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  face  of  the  intruder  his  form  shrank  as  if 
struck  by  a  sudden  blow,  and  with  a  cry  as  if  of  pain  he 
threw  his  arm  about  my  neck  and  sobbed  convulsively. 
Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that  the  tall  form  I  had  seen  on 
the  hill  was  that  of  Red-Head,  and,  connecting  therewith 
the  present  movements  of  the  frightened  child,  I  reasoned 
that  the  intruder  had  been  the  cause  of  his  suffering. 
Indignation  possessed  me.  Tearing  the  clasped  arms  of 
the  child  from  my  neck,  I  thrust  him  upon  the  bed  and 
faced  the  new-comer,  who  stood  full  a  head  taller  than 
myself;  but  this  fact  gave  me  no  concern.  u  And  you 
it  is,"  I  said,  u  who  delight  in  frightening  helpless 
children,  you  who  stoop  your  head  when  you  enter  a 
door  ?  " 

He  sneered,  but  did  not  answer. 

u  Out  of  this  house  ! "  I  pointed  to  the  door,  but  he 
made  no  movement.  I  sprang  toward  him,  and  tried  to 
strike  his  face ;  he  drew  his  head  back,  stepped  aside, 
and  I  passed  him  by.  Turning  suddenly,  I  sprang  again 
at  the  intruder,  viciously  striking  at  him  with  my  fist ; 
he  artfully  evaded  the  blow,  and,  reaching  out  his  lank 

295 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

arm,  grasped  one  of  my  wrists  and  then  the  other.  The 
strong  lad  held  my  two  wrists  in  one  hand,  and  with  his 
ugly  countenance  close  to  my  eyes,  laughed  in  my  face ; 
then  giving  me  a  sudden  twirl,  he  sent  me  spinning  to 
the  farther  side  of  the  room.  I  was  frenzied  now,  and 
knew  not  what  I  did.  That  leering  face  and  sarcastic 
laugh  were  more  exasperating  than  a  blow  of  the  fist 
would  have  been.  It  was  evident  that  he  could  have 
beaten  me  to  the  floor  had  he  cared  to  do  so,  and  the 
fact  that  I  had  been  spared  was  humiliating.  The  devil 
possessed  me,  and  realising  that  I  could  not  cope  with 
him  fist  to  fist,  I  sought  a  weapon,  and  found  it  in  the 
form  of  Cupe's  double-barrelled  shot-gun  that  stood  in 
the  corner  to  which  he  had  hurled  me.  I  grasped  it, 
and,  with  my  back  in  the  corner,  raised  and  pointed  it 
toward  him,  when  a  form  burst  from  out  the  door  at  the 
back  of  the  room.  It  was  Susie.  Had  she  been  a  sec 
ond  later  I  would  have  pulled  the  trigger ;  I  shuddered 
as  I  dropped  the  butt  of  the  gun  on  the  floor,  for  she 
stood  in  the  line  between  Red-Head  and  myself,  and  I 
realised  how  near  I  had  come  to  firing  the  weapon  as 
she  stepped  in  the  line  of  sight.  Susie,  with  the  eyes  of 
Susie  of  old,  but  not  exactly  the  same  face,  and  surely 
not  the  form  of  the  wild  girl  I  knew  four  years  ago.  A 
more  matured  expression  of  countenance,  a  womanly  fig 
ure,  had  replaced  the  face  and  form  of  the  girl,  yet  had 
brushed  away  no  charm  or  grace  the  girl  possessed.  She 
stood  motionless  before  me  in  the  lamplight.  A  wild 
rose  had  been  placed  in  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  another 
graced  her  hair ;  these,  when  last  I  knew  her,  she  would 
not  have  worn  as  she  wore  them  now. 

"  The  gun  is  loaded,"  she  said.  u  Is  it  murder  they 
teach  boys  in  Ohio  ?  "  Abashed,  I  placed  the  weapon 
back  in  the  corner  while  she  turned  to  Cupe.  "  Uncle 

296 


Susie,  Red-Head,  and  Samuel  Drew 

Cupe,  you  must  answer  for  this  !  I  '11  not  have  such 
things  done  in  my  house  !  " 

"  'Deed,  Missus,  an'  I  couldn'  help  de  boys  come'n, 
need'ah  could  I  help  'em  fight'n." 

She  turned  to  Red-Head. 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  fight.  Thet  feller  tried  ter  fight,  but  I 
would  n't.  He  Jd  hev  shot  me  too  ef  yo'  hed  n't  come. 
Ask  Cupe  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  ask  Cupe,  ask  me,"  I  broke  in.  "  Red- 
Head  tells  the  truth.  I  tried  to  fight  and  could  not. 
He  is  stronger  than  I  am,  and  he  knows  it.  I  have 
been  poring  over  books,  he  has  been  running  through  the 
fields  and  woods.  I  have  been  sitting  before  a  desk,  he 
has  been  exercising  his  muscles  all  day  long.  I  have 
been  developing  my  brain,  he  has  been  developing  his 
frame  and  body.  I  'm  a  fool  for  giving  him  a  chance  to 
show  me  that  I  am  weak  and  that  he  is  strong  in  brute 
strength.  I  have  acted  the  dunce  in  trying  to  strike 
him  with  my  fist.  It  must  be  brain  against  muscle 
hereafter,  Susie,  and  when  brain  meets  muscle,  brain 
always  wins.  I  assure  you  that  I  shall  not  fail  again 
when  the  time  comes  for  me  to  strike  him  down.  I 
shall  not  fist  fight  him,  though  ;  he  can  go  his  way,  I 
shall  go  mine." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Drew,  there  '11  be  no  fight,  for  he 
promised  me  long  ago  not  to  hurt  you." 

"  So  be  it,  Susie." 

u  But  de  sign  say  dey  mus'  be  de  defF  ob  each  uddah," 
mumbled  Cupe.  "  Et  say  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  '11  die 
sudden,  an'  dat  yo'  an  Susie  '11  be  de  cause  ;  an'  dat 
yo'  11  die  sudden,  an'  dat  de  Red-Head  Boy  an'  Susie  '11 
be  de  cause." 

"  Thar  '11  always  be  two  sides  ter  the  path  we  meet 
297 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

on,"  said  Red-Head,  addressing  me.  "  Yo'  keep  ter  the 
right,  an'  I  '11  keep  ter  the  right.  Thar  's  room  ter  look 
about  without  looking  at  each  other,  and  thar  's  room  ter 
whistle,  ef  we  can't  keep  our  mouths  shet  when  we 
meets  on  the  same  path." 

Ci  So  be  it,  but  mind  that  you  keep  to  the  right,"  I 
answered.  He  left  the  cabin,  without  a  word  of  fare 
well  to  any  one. 

The  child  rested  on  the  bed,  asleep.  "  Susie,"  I  said, 
u  I  am  ashamed  of  having  fought  Red-Head  in  your  home, 
but  he  tortured  that  little  child  near  to  death,  and  I 
could  not  help  doing  it.  My  temper  got  the  upper 
hand  of  my  judgment.  Will  you  pardon  me  ?  " 

"  Red-Head  is  wild  and  meant  no  harm,  I  am  sure," 
she  replied.  "  He  speaks  softly  to  me,  he  shows  me 
many  kindnesses ;  his  face  is  red,  his  hair  is  red,  but 
through  no  fault  of  his  own.  He  loves  the  country,  he 
loves  the  hills,  and  valleys,  the  woods  and  vines  and 
flowers." 

"And  yet  he  tortures  children,  Miss  Susie."  Never 
before  had  I  said  Miss  to  her,  and  as  I  did  so  now  she 
flushed.  I  saw  the  flush  —  it  shaded  her  face  until  the 
hue  of  the  cheek  touched  that  of  the  petals  of  the  wild 
sweet  briar  on  her  bosom. 

"  He  is  uneducated,"  she  replied,  u  and  needs  sym 
pathy,  not  blows.  You  say  that  he  tortured  the  child 
—  are  you  certain  that  he  did  ?  Mind  you  not  the  day  he 
stood  by  my  side  in  the  Stringtown  school  and  defended 
me,  a  helpless  girl  ?  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Samuel,  that  1 
was  not  tortured  then  ? " 

"  Did  I  not  also  stand  by  you,  did  I  not  offer  him  my 
hand  and  ask  that  our  past  enmity  be  forgotten,  did  I 
not  take  your  part  then,  Susie?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  dropped.  "Yes, but — " 
298 


Susie,  Red-Head,  and  Samuel  Drew 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"You  came  second." 

It  was  my  turn  to  flush.  It  was  true  that  I  did  go 
second  to  her  side  then,  seemingly  I  still  stood  second. 
And  then  my  heart  thumped,  for  the  first  time  I  knew 
how  deeply  I  loved  this  girl,  who  argued  so  naturally  in 
behalf  of  my  antagonist. 

"  Mr.  Drew,"  she  continued,  u  I  am  nobody  but 
Susie.  I  have  been  taught  by  my  guardian,  Mr.  Wag 
ner,  and  Professor  Drake,  and  expect  to  go  to  college,  so 
that  you  perceive  I  am  not  as  wild  as  I  should  have 
been  had  you  not  begged  me  to  take  the  education  ;  still 
I  am  c  Susie  Nobody,'  and  I  live  in  the  cabin  with  Cupe 
and  Dinah.  You  helped  me  escape  absolute  ignorance, 
and  for  your  kindness  in  guiding  me  as  you  did  I  sin 
cerely  thank  you.  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  in  behalf  of 
two  persons  do  I  thank  you." 

«  Who  else,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Red-Head.  He  is  not  the  vicious  lad  he  would 
have  been  had  I  grown  up  as  rude  as  I  might  have 
done." 

I  bit  my  lip.  "  Susie,"  I  said  "  I  hate  that  name  ; 
I  wish  no  thanks  for  him,  nor  will  I  take  any." 

"  I  give  them  on  my  own  account ;  I  do  not  hate  the 
name,"  she  answered.  Then  there  came  over  me  a 
sudden  impulse  to  tell  her  that  I  loved  her.  "  Susie,"  I 
said  eagerly,  "  listen.  There  was  something  I  wanted 
to  say  four  years  ago.  I  did  not  say  it  then.  I  must 
say  it  now.  Susie,  I  —  " 

I  caught  her  hand.  She  did  not  resist  nor  with 
draw  it. 

w  Missus,"  broke  in  Cupe  stepping  to  the  girl's  side, 
"  de  young  Ma'se  Samuel  mus'  be  tired  ob  standin'  so 
long.  'Scuse  de  ole  man,  but  de  muddah  ob  de  chile 

299 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

on  de  bed  '11  worry  monstrous  much  lessen  et  be  toted 
home.  Ef  de  young  ma  'se  will  break  off  de  conber- 
sashun,  Cupe  '11  go  'long  wid  him  t'  Stringtown  t* 
tote  de  chile." 

The  interruption  angered  me,  it  was  obviously  inten 
tional.  I  recalled  how  twice  before  he  had  prevented 
me  from  speaking  as  I  had  just  been  about  to  speak. 
But  the  interruption  had  been  made  and  Susie  had  left 
me ;  for  she  turned  to  the  bed,  where  she  gently  stroked 
the  child's  forehead.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Uncle  Cupe 
is  right.  The  little  one  should  be  taken  to  its  home." 
In  a  few  moments  the  slender  form,  still  asleep,  was 
carried  forth,  its  head  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
negro.  Before  leaving  the  cabin,  however,  I  lingered 
a  second,  a  second  longer  than  I  would  have  done  had 
the  occupant  been  other  than  Susie ;  just  a  second 
longer  than  I  might  have  done  had  it  been  any  other 
girl  did  I  hold  her  hand  in  mine,  and  as  I  dropped  it 
I  asked  : 

"  May  I  come  again  ?  " 

u  Why  not  ?  "  she  answered.  "  This  is  Kentucky." 
She  took  the  wild  sweet  briar  from  her  hair  and  handed 
it  to  me. 

u  Thank  you,  Susie,"  I  said.  "  May  I  not  also  have 
the  other  ?  "  and  I  pointed  to  the  rose  in  her  bosom. 

"  That  is  for  Red-Head  —  perhaps,"  she  replied. 


300 


CHAPTER  L 


CUPE  was  old  when  first  I  knew  him,  but  he  seemed 
no  older  and  no  more  decrepit  now  than  then. 
With  the  boy  over  his  shoulder  he  took  the  lead  that 
night,  asking  no  help,  and  held  it  until  the  village  was 
reached.  He  was  very  sullen.  Every  attempt  on  my 
part  to  engage  him  in  conversation  resulted  in  utter 
failure ;  he  would  not  talk.  So  in  communion  with 
myself  I  followed  at  his  heels. 

Before  reaching  the  place  where  the  negro  should  leave 
Stringtown  we  drew  near  the  house  of  Mr.  Wagner. 
Although  it  was  late,  a  light  shining  through  the  window 
of  the  front  room  indicated  that  the  village  clerk  had 
not  yet  retired. 

"  Ma'se  Sammy,"  broke  in  my  companion,  "  Cupe 
hab  a  word  t'  say  t'  Ma'se  Wagnah,  an  '11  be  obleeged  ef 
yo'  '11  stop  a  minit  an'  heah  de  conbersashun." 

He  turned  into  the  little  yard,  knocked  on  the  door, 
and  together  we  were  ushered  into  the  room,  where,  as 
has  been  related,  many  years  before  he  had  stood  with 
the  heavy  box  of  coin  and  the  manuscript  of  Susie's 
mother.  I  was  invited  to  seat  myself,  and  did  so,  but 
Cupe  remained  standing. 

"  Ma'se  Wagnah,"  he  said,  "yo'  min'  de  day  in  de 
yeah  gone  by  when  yo'  come  t'  Cupe's  cabin  an'  tole 
him  how  es  de  Co'ht  had  made  yo'  de  guardyen  ob  de 
little  Susie  gearl  ?  " 

307 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Yes,  Cupe,  very  well." 

u  Min'  yo'  de  trouble  de  gearl  yocasioned  yo',  an'  dat 
de  jedge  say  she  could  stay  wid  Cupe  till  de  time  come 
fo'  her  t'  lebe  der  cabin  ob  her  brack  fren's  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

ct  She  wah  es  full  ob  fun  an'  sunshine  es  a  bee  tree  es 
ob  honey,  an'  she  keered  nuffin  'bout  no  one  but  de  ole 
brack  fo'ks.  She  hab  be'n  like  honey  ebah  sense.  She 
wah  a  spritely  gearl,  Ma'se  Wagnah,  a  little  ting,  but 
now  she  stan'  tall  an'  supple." 

u  Go  on,  Cupe." 

"  When  de  little  gearl  use  t'  sing,  et  wah  loud  like  de 
fieP  lark,  an'  when  she  dance',  et  wah  keerless  like  wid 
her  gahments.  But  now  she  doan  dance  no  moah  befo' 
de  cabin  doah,  an'  when  she  sing,  et  am  sof  an'  hum- 
min',  like  de  tu'tle  dove." 

Again  he  stopped.     "  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Wagner. 

"  An'  when  de  pert  chile  use  t'  gaddah  de  flowahs  in 
de  spring,  she  bunch  'em  in  her  han'  an'  den  put  'em  in 
a  glass  ob  watah  on  de  table ;  but  now  she  doan  bunch 
de  flowahs  no  moah,  she  jes  pick  one  er  two  wil'  roses 
an'  stick  'em  in  her  ha'r  er  in  her  busum.  Et  am  a 
monstrous  change,  Ma'se  Wagnah."  Now  his  voice 
sunk  very  low.  "  An'  when  de  boys  roam  obah  de 
Ian*  dey  use  t'  hunt  in  de  woods  an'  skate  an'  swim  in 
de  pond  an'  drink  out  ob  de  spring  down  by  de  milk 
house.  But  now  dey  go  by  de  spring  t'  stop  monstrous 
offen  at  de  cabin  fo'  a  cup  t'  git  a  drink  ob  watah,  er  t' 
ax  some  fool  quistion  what  doan  mean  nuffin,  er  t'  act 
up  one  way  er  'nuddah."  He  looked  at  me.  u  Mon 
strous  little  uxcuse  et  takes  t'  bring  'em  t'  de  cabin  now. 
Two  ob  em  come  t'-night,  an'  Susie  she  lingah  in  her 
room  t'  fix  up  befo'  she  come  out." 

"  Well,  Cupe,  what  must  I  do  ?  " 
302 


Cupe's  Threat 


"  Et  's  time  de  gearl  lef'  de  cabin ;  Lawd  knows  dat 
Cupe  an'  Dinah  lubs  her  moah  'n  all  de  worl',  but  de 
gearl's  place  now  es  wid  de  white  fo'ks.  Take  her 
back,  Ma'se  Wagnah  ;  fo'  de  good  ob  de  honey  chile, 
take  her  back  !  " 

"  I  understand,  Cupe.  You  feel  that  she  has  grown 
beyond  your  care." 

"  Et  makes  de  nigger  sad  t'  say  et." 

"  I  '11  see  Judge  Elford  and  arrange  at  once  for  her 
future.  She  is  a  bright  girl  and  should  go  away  to 
school." 

"  Min'  yo'  de  readin'  ob  de  papah  her  muddah  wrote  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"  She  doan  wan'  t'  go  t'  school,  ner  t'  go  t'  any  home 
t  live  outen  she  hab  de  name  she  'titled  to." 

"  That  paper  carries  no  evidence  that  the  Court  could 
use  to  give  her  the  name  of  her  father." 

"  An'  mus'  she  be  c  Nigger  Susie '  always  ?  " 

u  She  will  be  only  Susie  until  she  marries." 

"  Yo'  know,  Ma'se  Wagnah,  dat  ole  Ma'se  Manley, 
who  die  so  sudden,  wah  her  fahdah.  Yo'  know  he  libed 
a  monstrous  good  life  heah  es  fo'ks  b'lebed,  but  de  kin'- 
heahted  man  died  s'prisin'  sudden.  Had  he  lived  longah, 
he  might  hab  give'  de  chile  de  name  she 's  'titled  to. 
Et's  a  pity  he  died  so  early." 

Mr.  Wagner  shook  his  head. 

"  Ef  Susie  caint  hab  her  name,  de  name  ob  de  Man- 
ley  gearls  shall  stan'  disgrace',"  said  the  earnest  negro. 
"Ef  de  debbil  es  t'  foller  de  deah  chile,  he'll  stick 
his  fingahs  into  de  ha'r  ob  de  uddah  gearls  too.  Ef  yo' 
caint  gib  Susie  her  name,  Cupe  '11  brung  shame  t'  dem." 

u  Beware,  Cupe ! "  said  the  now  disturbed  man. 
"  You  intend  to  do  right,  but  will  surely  accomplish 
mischief." 

303 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  When  Cupe  went  t'  Canerdy,  he  went  by  de  town 
what  de  writin'  ob  Susie's  muddah  tole  'bout.  He  stop 
t'  see  de  man  ole  Aunt  Sukey  knowed,  Aunt  Sukey  who 
saw  Ma'se  Manley  wid  de  muddah  ob  Susie.  Cupe 
paid  de  lawyers  fo'  gittin'  all  de  fac's,  he  hab  de  swohn 
papahs,  he  hab  de  ev'dence  ob  de  New  Yo'k  Co'ht  es  t' 
Ma'se  Manley.  Cupe  doan  mean  no  mischief,  but  ef 
de  Susie  chile  caint  git  her  name,  he  '11  raise  de  debbil 
wid  de  name  ob  Manley."  He  turned  to  the  door,  but 
before  going  delivered  this  parting  shot  :  "  De  New 
Yo'k  jedge  said  dat  in  New  Yo'k  ef  a  man  libed  wid  a 
woman  in  open  es  ef  dey  wah  married,  dey  am  married. 
De  lawyer's  common  marriage,  he  called  et.  Dat  ef  a 
chile  wah  bohn  t'  dem,  et  wah  his  chile  an'  titled  t'  his 
name  an'  his  money  too.  Dat  de  deed  wah  fact  ef  de 
proof  ob  de  deed  wah  suah.  An'  Cupe  hab  all  de  proof 
in  brack  writin',  even  t'  de  swarin'  ob  Aunt  Sukey  an' 
ob  de  New  Yo'k  jedge.  Ef  Ma'se  Manley  hab  any 
chile  'titled  t'  his  name,  et  am  Susie." 

"  For  God's  sake,  keep  your  mouth  shut,  Cupe !  I 
shall  consult  Judge  Elford  at  once  about  this  matter." 

"  Bettah  yo'  let  no  grass  grow  undah  yoah  feet,  Ma'se 
Wagnah,  fo'  Cupe  am  gittin'  monstrous  ole,  an'  doan 
'tend  t'  die  an'  lebe  de  gearl  widout  de  name  she 's 
'titled  to." 

u  Mr.  Wagner,"  I  said,  "this  is  all  strange  to  me.  I 
catch  part  of  Cupe's  meaning,  but  much  of  it  is  obscure. 
Still,  I  take  it  that  Mr.  Manley,  who  died  by  a  paralytic 
stroke,  was  the  father  of  Susie." 

"  Yes,  she  is  his  child.  He  was  followed  to  Ken 
tucky  by  the  girl's  mother,  who  left  the  baby  in  charge 
of  Cupe's  master,  Mr.  Hardman,  the  half-brother  of  Mr. 
Maniey.  Do  not,  however,  speak  of  the  fact  you  have 
learned,  the  secret  is  to  be  well  kept  if  Susie  is  to  be 

304 


Cupe's  Threat 


protected.  A  simple  statement  of  fact  cannot  serve  her 
interests,  while  it  can  bring  sorrow  and  shame  to  many 
others." 

"  Mr.  Wagner,  when  I  left  Stringtown  to  go  to  school 
you  gave  me  some  advice.  You  told  me  that  when  I 
found  the  girl  I  loved,  I  should  tell  her  so.  I  am  now 
of  age  and  in  a  fair  way  to  make  a  living.  1  love  Susie 
with  all  my  heart.  I  cast  no  blame  on  her  for  the  shame 
her  father  wrought.  Upon  the  contrary,  I  now  despise 
the  name  of  the  man  who  wronged  her,  and  1  love  her 
none  the  less.  I  am  willing  to  share  my  name  if  she 
will  accept  it.  Give  her  a  good  education,  I  beg  of 
you,  do  your  duty  as  her  guardian,  and  look  to  me  to 
furnish  the  name  she  needs.  That  is  — "  I  hesitated. 

"What?" 

"  If  she  will  share  it." 

"  Cupe  knows,"  I  added,  and  turned  to  address  the 
old  man,  but  he  had  silently  slipped  away  ;  only  Mr. 
Wagner  and  myself  were  present.  The  negro  had 
gone  from  the  room  either  before  or  after  my  declara 
tion  was  made,  I  knew  not  which.  He  had  left  us  with 
the  expressed  threat  to  u  raise  the  devil  with  the  name  of 
Manley." 


305 


CHAPTER  LI 

THE     MAGIC    MIRROR 

SLEEP  did  not  readily  come  to  my  eyes  that  night, 
and  the  snatches  of  slumber  brought  little  rest. 
Distressing  dreams  that  seemed  to  be  joined  to  not  less 
painful  periods  of  waking  possessed  me.  When  morn 
ing  broke  I  arose  fatigued  and  with  swollen  eyes.  My 
mother  perceived  that  something  weighed  upon  my 
mind,  and  suggested  that  I  might  not  be  well ;  but  I 
passed  the  matter  lightly.  Although  painful  dreams 
came  to  me  all  that  night,  I  remembered  but  one  in 
cident,  wherein  occurred  a  question :  u  What  is  the 
object  of  life  ?  " 

Memory  of  the  scenes  of  the  previous  evening  and 
the  threat  of  Cupe  concerning  the  Manleys  disturbed 
me.  I  feared  that  he  might  carry  his  threat  into  im- 
media:?  execution,  and  I  will  add  that  I  now  felt  not 
only  a  personal  concern,  but  a  legitimate  right  to  inter 
fere.  With  this  thought  in  mind,  I  started  for  his  cabin 
without  any  well-formulated  plan  of  action.  But  it  was 
not  to  meet  Susie  that  I  went  this  time  to  the  home  of 
the  dead  Corn  Bug.  I  intended  to  talk  with  the  old 
negro,  and  for  the  once  I  hoped  to  find  the  girl  absent. 

My  object  being  to  discover  something  further  con 
cerning  the  past  life  of  his  charge  and  to  tell  Cupe 
that  by  reason  of  my  conference  with  Mr.  Wagner,  her 
guardian,  I  had,  to  a  degree,  assumed  a  personal  respon 
sibility  concerning  her  future.  I  will  admit,  also,  that 

306 


The  Magic  Mirror 

I  was  aggrieved  over  the  manner  in  which  the  old  slave 
had  treated  me  on  the  two  occasions  in  which  I  had 
been  prevented  from  telling  the  girl  that  my  thought 
was  for  her,  and  I  now  proposed  not  only  to  inform  him 
of  my  intention,  but  to  give  him  to  understand  that  I 
should  submit  to  no  further  impertinence  in  this  direc 
tion.  "  Neither  has  the  old  fool,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  a 
right  longer  to  thrust  on  me  his  negro  superstitions !  " 

As  I  reflected  in  detail  over  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  played  upon  my  childish  credulity,  and  had  even 
made  me  take  part  in  his  incantations,  I  felt  both  indig 
nant  and  humiliated.  "  I  '11  have  no  more  of  it,"  I 
said,  and  in  this  mood  reached  the  cabin.  No  signs  of 
life  were  to  be  seen  about  the  place,  no  dog  curled  before 
the  step,  no  Dinah,  Cupe  nor  Susie.  I  knocked  on  the 
door,  and  imagined  that  I  heard  a  sound  within,  but 
the  door  remained  closed  and  no  voice  bade  me  enter. 
Then  I  stepped  to  the  window  ;  it  was  close  curtained. 
I  walked  around  the  dwelling,  to  find  that  with  one 
exception  the  other  windows  were  also  draped.  The 
exception  was  the  room  in  the  new  addition  to  the 
cabin,  the  room  of  Susie,  but  that,  too,  was  unoccupied 
and  the  door  leading  from  it  into  the  cabin  was  closed. 
A  moment  I  stood  there  studying  with  my  eyes  the 
scene  within.  Simple,  indeed,  were  the  home  surround" 
ings  of  this  girl,  and  yet  in  good  taste.  A  picture  cut 
from  a  magazine,  a  home-made  ornament  worked  by 
girlish  hands,  a  few  knick-knacks,  such  as  she  might 
cherish,  and  an  assortment  of  books  that  astonished  me. 
History,  science,  art,  literature !  I  knew  the  works, 
some  of  them,  others  as  yet  I  had  not  seen.  Admiration 
for  the  girl  had  previously  possessed  me,  now  I  knew 
that  it  had  not  been  misplaced. 

This  was  all  I  saw  —  with  one  exception  —  that  of 
307 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  pencil  drawing  of  a  young  man  —  my  own  face 
surely — conspicuous  in  a  rustic  frame  on  the  little 
dresser  near  the  window.  Evidently  the  sketch  was  by 
Susie;  and  slipped  into  the  frame  was  a  rose,  a  dried 
wild  rose.  As  I  pressed  my  face  to  the  glass  of  the 
little  window  of  the  room  a  sense  of  shame  came  over 
me  ;  my  action  unmanly.  "  Forgive  me,  Susie,"  I  said 
to  myself,  "  I  'm  a  churl,  a  sneak  !  "  and  in  this  mood  J 
passed  back  to  the  front  door. 

I  was  convinced  that  the  home  could  not  be  deserted, 
for  seldom,  if  ever,  did  all  the  occupants  of  a  negro, 
cabin  leave  the  premises  unguarded,  and  I  questioned 
then  as  to  whether  from  a  distance  I  had  not  been 
observed  ;  and  naturally  I  inferred  that  my  unbidden 
company  was  distasteful,  and  that  Cupe  had  taken  this 
means  to  teach  me  that  my  visits  were  not  to  be  con 
tinued.  u  The  impertinent  old  fanatic,"  I  thought ; 
"  to  what  end  may  he  not  carry  his  superstitions,  born 
of  ignorance  and  bred  in  arrogance  ?  "  I  raised  an  axe 
handle  that  stood  beside  the  doorway  and  beat  the  heavy 
oak  door  as  though  to  splinter  it.  I  made  the  old  house 
ring,  for  with  each  blow  I  grew  angrier  and  thought 
meaner  things,  I  who  had  no  right  to  even  question  the 
reason  of  the  action  of  any  occupant  of  that  home. 
Then,  as  I  rested,  the  door  opened  and  Cupe  stood 
before  me.  No  smirk  on  his  countenance  now,  no 
welcome  smile,  no  courtesy  and  bow. 

"  Yo'  Stringtown  boy  from  de  Norf,  ain't  dah  room 
nuff  outside  fo'  yo'  t'  walk  ? "  Then  without  waiting 
a  reply,  he  added  :  "  De  Susie  gearl's  not  in  de  cabin." 
He  closed  the  door  in  my  face. 

Never  before  had  I  known  an  old-time  negro  to  do 
such  an  act  as  this  ;  hospitality  was  born  and  cultivated 
in  the  hearts  of  the  old  Southern  home  slave,  and  for 

308 


The  Magic  Mirror 

Cupe  to  behave  in  this  manner  was  unpardonable.  I 
raised  the  axe  handle,  and  with  both  hands  grasping  the 
shaft,  struck  such  a  vicious  blow  on  the  door  as  to 
benumb  my  fingers  and  jar  the  stick  from  my  grasp. 
The  door,  strong  as  it  was,  could  stand  few  such  attacks 
as  that,  and  I  presume  Cupe  realised  the  fact,  for  once 
more  he  threw  it  open,  stepped  to  one  side  and  awaited 
my  entrance.  I  lost  no  time  in  accepting  the  opportun 
ity  ;  the  negro  closed  the  door  immediately,  and  I  ob 
served  that  he  bolted  it  too,  for  I  heard  the  draw  of  the 
iron  bar.  I  heard  it,  I  say,  for  although  the  sun  was 
shining  brightly  outside  there  was  no  ray  of  light  within. 
Absolute  darkness  prevailed. 

"  I  tole  yo'  de  Susie  gearl  am  not  t'  home." 

"  I  came  to  talk  to  you"  I  answered,  coolly,  "  not  to 
see  Susie." 

"  De  time  am  not  'pitious  an'  de  mannah  ob  de 
come'n  am  not  perlite.  Doan  yo'  see  de  doah  am 
slow  t'  open  ?  De  sign  am  bad,  I  tole  yo'." 

"  Shut  up  about  your  signs  and  incantations.  Never 
let  me  hear  you  mention  them  again.  I  wish  no  more 
of  them." 

"  An'  ef  yo'  wish  no  moah,  why  doan  yo'  keep  'way. 
Hab  Cupe  ebah  gone  t'  hunt  yo'  up  an'  shove  'em  down 
yoah  froat  ?  Doan  yo'  always  come  t'  Cupe,  an'  doan 
yo'  start  de  spell  ?  De  twine  ob  de  spell  am  tangled 
'bout  de  feet  ob  Cupe  an'  Dinah  and  Red-FIead  an'  Susie 
an'  yo'selb.  An'  yo'  am  de  one  who  did  de  act  ob  de 
tangle.  But  Cupe  would  n't  care  ef  de  sweet  gearl  wah 
free ;  de  sign  twine  might  be  'bout  de  necks  ob  yo'  two 
boys.  Did  n't  yo'  start  de  spell,  I  axes  ?  " 

I  felt  the  justice  of  the  rebuke,  but  was  determined  to 
have  my  say.  "  I  'm  tired  of  all  this  foolishness." 

u  De  doah  am  b'hin'  yo',  an'  de  way  am  clean  t'  dc 
309 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

funshine  j  shall  Cupe  open  et  an'  let  yo'  out  ?    Yo'  hain't 
got  no  invite  t'  stay." 

"  I  tell  you  I  came  to  talk  with  you." 

Then  I  felt  an  object  touch  my  knees.  "  Take  dc 
cheer  an'  do  yoah  talkin'  moah  comf'ble." 

I  sought  the  back  of  the  chair  with  my  hand,  found  it 
and  seated  myself.  "  Cupe,  why  don't  you  light  up 
your  room  ?  raise  the  curtain." 

"  Yo'  come  t'  talk  'bout  fool  signs,  Cupe  hab  de  con- 
bersashun  in  him  eah ;  go  on  wid  de  talk,  fo'  de  eah 
doan  need  no  light." 

I  felt  somewhat  disturbed.  The  absence  of  the 
women,  the  mysterious  movements  of  the  negro,  his 
well-known  fanaticism  and  his  methods  were  not  calcu 
lated  to  enliven  me;  besides,  this  absolute  darkness, 
when  it  should  have  been  light,  was  depressing. 

u  Cupe,  since  I  came  to  this  cabin  as  a  child  I  have 
been  imposed  upon  more  than  once  by  your  superstitions. 
You  led  me  to  expect  to  fight  Red-Head,  and  the  men 
tal  impression  you  made  on  my  young  mind  induced  me 
to  hate  him.  I  presume  that  you  accomplished  the 
same  end  with  Red-Head.  You  led  the  unsuspecting 
girl  Susie  to  look  forward  to  trouble  that  was  coming 
between  us  two  boys,  and  she,  too,  became  involved  in 
your  silly  signs.  You  must  stop  this  nonsense  now." 

"  An'  yo'  doan  b'lebe  in  de  sign  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  When  de  chicken  cock  crow  at  midnight,  am  et  a 
sign  dat  mahn'n  '11  come  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Do  yo'  ebah  know  a  mahn'n  not  t'  come  ahftah  dc 
crowin'  ob  de  chicken  ?  " 

"  You  old  fool." 

u  Yo'  say  yo'  doan  b'lebe  in  signs  ?  " 
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The  Magic  Mirror 

«  No." 

«  Yo'  b'lebe  in  de  alm'nac  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  De  'clipses,  de  da'k  an'  de  light  ob  de  moon, 
'cordin'  t'  de  alm'nac,  am  right  ?  " 

"Yes;  they  are  predicted  by  calculation." 

"Yo'  b'lebe  what  yo'  see  written  in  de  alm'nac 
book  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Cupe  '11  ask  yo'  t'  read  a  page  fo'  t'  let  him  see  ef 
de  Susie  gearl  kin  read  es  apt  es  she  might." 

He  lighted  a  candle,  and  took  from  near  the  fireplace 
a  Farmers'  and  Mechanics'  Almanac;  clumsily  fingering 
the  pages,  he  thrust  the  open  book  before  my  face. 
"  Read  de  wo'ds  ob  de  alm'nac  an'  tole  me  what  de 
gem'n  what  write  et  say.  He  am  not  bery  p'lite  in  de 
pictah,  an'  he  seems  t'  be  pow'ful  much  hurt  jes  below 
de  ribs."  I  glanced  at  the  page  and  over  the  well- 
known  illustration  read,  "  Signs  of  the  Zodiac." 

Cupe  chuckled.  u  An'  yoah  book  ob  fac's  am  a 
sign  book.  Bettah  yo'  say  nuffin  moah  'bout  Cupe. 
De  book  say  de  moon  '11  change,  an'  suah  de  sign  yo' 
read  in  de  book  am  good,  fo'  de  moon  do  change.  Et 
say  de  'clipses  '11  come,  an'  de  sign  am  good,  fo'  dey  do 
come.  What  yo'  see  in  de  book  am  good,  an'  Cupe 
sahtify  t'  de  fac',  but  what  Cupe  kin  see  wid  his  eyes  an* 
heah  wid  his  eahs  am  jes  es  good  es  alm'nac  signs." 
Suddenly  changing  the  subject  of  the  discussion,  he 
asked  : 

"  Doan  yo'  meet  de  Red-Head  Boy  es  Cupe  p'dicted  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Doan  yo'  two  boys  fight  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Doan  de  Susie  gearl  come  betwixt  yo'  ?  '* 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"Yes,  but  — " 

But  without  heeding  me  the  negro  added :  "  An1 
did  n't  Cupe  p'dict  de  come'n  ob  dem  all  ?  " 

"You  guessed  some  things,  I  will  admit." 

"  An'  so  does  de  alm'nac  book  guess  some  tings. 
But  Cupe  doan  guess.  He  sees  'em  all,  he  knows 
moah'n  he  tells,  an'  he  kin  tell  moah  'bout  yo'  dan  yo' 
tells  too." 

"  Tell  me  something  I  know  that  has  happened  and 
not  been  told." 

u  Yo'  stood  in  de  city  by  de  stone  wall  wid  de  carpet 
bag  at  yoah  feet  an'  met  de  long-haired  man.  Yo'  went 
wid  him  t'  de  play-house.  Yo'  los'  yoah  money,  an' 
den  yo'  go  an'  stan'  on  de  bridge  lookin'  down  in  de 
watah,  an'  yo'  come  monstrous  neah  jurnyin'  down  into 
de  ribbah.  But  yo'  could  n't  jump,  fo'  de  end  ob  de 
spell  wah  not  den.  Yo'  did  n't  tole  no  man  'bout  de 
'sperience  yo'  meet  in  de  big  city,  an'  yo'  doan  'tend  t' 
tole  no  man,  ner  yo'  doan  wan'  Cupe  t'  tole  no  man." 

"  You  old  devil,"  I  said  indignantly,  ct  how  did  you 
find  out  these  things  ?  " 

"  I  read  'em  in  de  glass,  I  see  'em  wid  my  eyes,  I 
heah  de  conbersashun  wid  my  eahs  es  easy  es  I  talk  t' 
yo'  now.  Yo'  look  in  de  alm'nac  book  fo'  de  sign,  an' 
yo'  doan  git  much  but  moon  an'  'clipses.  Cupe  see  de 
movin'  ob  de  past  an'  de  come'n  ob  de  future,  an'  yo' 
call  dem  fool  signs.  He  wah  readin'  de  future  when  yo' 
knock  so  loud  on  de  doah." 

u  You  're  an  old  liar,  Cupe.  Some  man  told  you 
these  things  about  me." 

u  An'  yo'  wan'  t'  see  wid  yoah  eyes  ?  " 

"  I  dare  you  to  show  me  the  things  you  claim  to  see." 

"  Memberlec'  dat  Cupe  doan  ax  yo'  on.  Yo'  am  de 
feller  what  ax  de  quistion." 

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The  Magic  Mirror 

"  I  dare  you  to  show  me  the  manner  in  which  you 
read  the  sign." 

u  Dah  am  moah  'n  one  way,  but  one  's  nuff  fo'  yo'. 
Sit  still  an'  doan  move,  yo'  sign  chile,  sit  still,  an'  yo  '11 
see  de  passin'  ob  de  past  an'  de  come'n  ob  de  nex' 
spell." 

He  lighted  a  candle  and  from  some  unseen  receptacle 
produced  a  black  object  like  a  mirror,  about  twelve  inches 
in  length  and  nine  inches  in  diameter.  It  was  concave, 
and  black  as  pitch.  This  he  placed  in  my  hands,  ex 
plaining  that  I  must  look  into  its  concave  surface.  As 
my  fingers  touched  the  curious  object,  every  point  of 
which  was  black  as  asphaltum,  a  curious  sensation  ran 
over  my  body,  a  strange  tremble  that  seemed  to  be  car 
ried  into  my  frame  from  out  my  finger-tips.  The  dim 
glimmer  of  the  candle,  that  lighted  the  room  but  little, 
and  the  thing  I  touched  but  could  see  not  at  all,  the 
solemn  voice  of  the  negro,  the  air  of  mystery  with 
which  he  moved  and  spoke,  following  the  remarkable 
manner  in  which  he  had  outlined  the  experiences  I  met 
in  Cincinnati,  and  that  I  supposed  were  locked  securely 
in  my  own  breast,  unnerved  me  and  my  hands  trembled. 

"  What  is  this  thing,  and  where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Et  am  de  sign-glass,  an'  I  got  et  from  de  man  who 
doan  make  no  alm'nacs.  Cupe  hab  trabelled  Norf,  an* 
hab  trabelled  Souf,  an'  hab  sot  monstrous  close  t'  men 
who  hab  be'n  out  in  de  night  an'  in  de  sunshine  wha' 
de  summer  am  all  de  yeah  long.  Yo  '11  see  moah  in  dat 
glass  dan  yo'  ebah  read  in  any  book,  an'  when  yo'  git 
fru,  yo  '11  not  hab  t'  ax  Cupe  t'  tole  yo'  de  nex'  news 
what 's  come'n,  an'  yo'  won't  be  consahned  in  wha'  Cupe 
got  de  glass  need'h.  Look  down  an'  read  —  read  de 
glass." 

313 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

I  lowered  my  eyes,  and  as  I  did  so  the  negro  blew  out 
the  flame  of  the  candle ;  again  I  was  in  absolute  dark 
ness,  gazing  at  or  toward  an  object  in  itself  black  even 
in  daylight.  "  Cupe,  this  is  nonsense ;  light  up  the 
candle,  open  the  door  !  "  I  said.  But  still  I  gazed  into 
the  mirror's  depths,  for  strange  movements  began  to  play- 
in  the  air  near  where  I  felt  the  surface  of  the  thing  should 
be,  and  then  an  uncouth  object  shot  from  out  one  side  of 
the  mirror  and  assumed  the  shape  of  an  ugly  human  face. 

ct  Look  in  de  sign-glass,  chile,  an*  talk  when  de  spell 
am  obah,"  but  no  reason  had  the  negro  to  make  this 
charge  now,  for  as  suddenly  as  it  appeared  did  the  face 
vanish,  and  I  now  gazed  in  fascination  down  into  its 
depths,  yes,  through  it  into  light  beyond.  This  is  what 
I  saw. 

The  motion  of  the  air  at  first  was  similar  to  a  thick 
mist  blown  back  and  forth  in  the  night  before  an  illum 
inated  object  that  could  just  be  distinguished  deep  down 
in  the  bottomless  distance.  Then  came  a  gyrating  move 
ment  that  swept  the  vapours  into  a  spiral  which  revolved 
as  does  an  eddy  of  water,  sucking  the  vapours  into  a 
vortex  centre,  which  seemed  to  pass  down  into  the  in 
creasing  brightness  beyond.  As  the  vapours  disappeared 
into  the  eddy,  the  light  rapidly  brightened,  and  soon  I 
sat  looking  into  a  sunshine  scene  in  which  no  object 
appeared,  nothing  but  a  curious  light,  soft,  pleasant, 
soothing.  Then  came  a  shadow,  and  as  by  magic  a 
scene  uplifted  oefore  my  eyes,  a  scene  of  the  past  in 
which  I  had  taken  part,  and  all  the  incidents  of  that  night 
of  terror  in  which  as  a  child  I  first  ran  to  this  cabin, 
followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession.  I  saw  minutely 
every  phase  of  that  scene,  from  the  reading  by  Cupe  of 
the  sign  in  the  ashes  to  the  vision  of  the  little  girl  sitting 
at  the  table. 

3U 


The  Magic  Mirror 

Next  came  a  blank  in  which  mists  whirled  again,  and 
then  appeared  the  scene  in  the  grocery,  where,  that  night 
in  1863,  stood  Parson  Jones  confronting  the  picturesque 
Colonel  Luridson.  I  heard  the  storm  again  ;  the  sleet 
and  wind  of  New  Year,  1864,  beat  upon  my  ears,  the 
movements  of  the  men  about  that  stove  and  their  con 
versation  were  again  a  part  of  my  life,  and  I  saw  myself, 
too,  sitting  in  the  circle  even  until  the  climax  came  and 
the  hands  of  the  parson  leaped  out  and  grasped  the  throat 
of  Luridson.  I  saw  and  heard  as  if  I  were  an  observer, 
and  then,  as  for  the  second  time,  I  gazed  at  a  scene  in 
which  an  actor,  I  sat  now  an  observer.  I  cried  aloud 
and  the  scene  changed. 

Next  came,  one  by  one,  the  principal  incidents  I  have 
recorded  in  this  history  of  my  life  and  which  I  need  not 
again  relate.  The  quarrel  with  Red-Head  in  the  valley, 
the  farewell  to  Stringtown,  the  pathetic  ride  on  the  old, 
rocking  stage,  the  subsequent  experiences  in  Cincinnati, 
touched  upon  by  Cupe  and  which  I  had  never  described 
to  any  one,  the  life  in  college,  the  return  to  Stringtown, 
the  recent  incidents,  and  at  last  I  was  led  to  the  present 
moment,  and  saw  myself  sitting  in  my  chair  gazing  into 
the  magic  mirror.  Yes,  I  sat  in  the  cabin  of  Cupe 
holding  that  occult  glass,  into  whose  depths  I  was  peer 
ing  and,  remarkable  statement,  I  was  surely  looking  at 
myself.  A  feeling  of  awe  came  over  me,  a  desire  to 
drop  the  glass,  and  yet  I  could  not.  Spellbound  my 
eyes  followed  the  young  man  (myself),  who  next  handed 
the  glass  to  the  negro  by  his  side  and  passed  out  of  the 
cabin.  He  walked  slowly,  with  bowed  head,  seemingly 
in  deep  meditation  ;  but  once  did  he  stoop  (and  then  I 
could  not  catch  the  object  he  picked  up)  until,  raising 
his  eyes,  a  girl  appeared  before  him.  The  two  spoke, 
then  I  saw  him  take  her  hand  and  plead  for  something^ 

315 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

but  in  words  I  could  not  catch,  for  the  voices  were  very 
low.  She  stood  with  drooping  eyes  and  seemed  to  with 
stand  the  earnest  solicitation,  for  she  shook  her  head, 
and  at  last  they  separated,  he  moving  slowly  away  toward 
Stringtown,  she  toward  the  cabin.  And  as  she  passed 
along  I  observed  that  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

I  next  followed  the  lad  until  I  entered  the  village.  I 
saw  the  door  of  my  home  open,  and  then  I  stood  by 
my  mother's  side  pleading  for  something  in  words  that 
again  I  could  not  catch.  Eye  seemed  to  be  the  more 
acute  of  the  senses  now,  for  while  I  heard  an  indistinct 
hum  of  voices  ear  could  not  catch  the  words.  Earnestly 
I  pleaded  with  my  mother,  and  as  I  did  so,  I  who  saw  but 
could  not  hear,  grew  deeply  interested  in  the  nature  of 
the  conversation,  for  I  felt  that  it  concerned  my  recent 
interview  with  the  girl.  Involuntarily  I  moved  the 
mirror  nearer  my  face,  and  then,  instantly,  darkness 
enveloped  me.  I  sat  in  absolute  darkness  back  in  the 
cabin ;  the  charm  was  broken. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  negro  learned  that  I  had 
broken  the  spell  —  possibly  I  made  some  noise ;  at  any 
rate,  he  lighted  the  candle,  took  the  "sign-glass  "  from 
my  hands,  opened  the  door,  drew  up  the  curtains,  and 
then  said  :  "  An'  did  yo'  see  de  story  ob  yoah  life  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  curious  experience,  surely,"  I  replied,  in  a 
respectful  tone  I  should  not  have  used  preceding  the 
"  experience." 

"  An'  did  yo'  reach  de  cabin  ? " 

"  Yes." 

u  An'  did  yo'  go  pas'  de  cabin  an'  see  de  tings  what 's 
come'n  ?  " 

ct  I  saw  myself  walk  away  from  this  cabin,  if  you  call 
that  c  tings  what  's  come'n'." 

u  Yo'  did  n't  git  t'  de  end  ob  yoah  trabels,  yo'  did  n't 

316 


The  Magic  Mirror 

see  de  cole  face  an*  de  crossed  ban's,  yo'  did  n't  see  dc 
endin'  ob  de  spell  twixt  yo'  an'  Red-Head  ? " 

«  No." 

1  Yo'  did  n't  fin'  de  meanin*  ob  de  sign  what  say  dat 
Susie  '11  be  gone  from  the  worl'  an'  walkin'  still  ?  " 

"  No  ;   I  moved  the  mirror  and  the  scene  disappeared." 

"  Et  am  monstrous  strange,  de  endin'  ob  de  spell  fo' 
Susie.  Cupe  hab  read  de  endin'  ob  Red- Head  an'  ob 
yo',  too,  but  he  caint  git  no  sense  out  ob  de  endin'  ob 
Susie.  Gone  out  ob  de  worl'  an'  yet  in  et,  de  spell  say. 
She  wah  surely  walkin'  ahftah  de  sign  p'dict  she  wah 
gone  from  de  worl'.  De  pure  white  face  wah  sweet  es 
an  angel,  she  wah  in  ole  Kaintuck  suah,  she  wah  movin' 
an'  talkin',  yit  de  sign  say  she  wah  gone  from  de  worl'. 
Et  am  an  awful  ting  t'  Cupe  t'  not  see  de  cleah  endin' 
ob  de  spell  fo'  Susie."  Then  he  turned  to  me  and 
spoke  kindly  :  "  Chile,  Cupe  doan  mean  no  ha'am  t'  yo'r 
he  hain't  said  no  disrespec'.  Yo'  hab  slandered  de  sign 
what  doan  come  out  ob  de  alm'nac  book,  but  befo'  yo' 
speak  at  random  ag'in  yo'll  see  dat  de  sign-glass  kin  show 
what  de  alm'nac  book  caint.  Yo'  hab  seed  de  tings 
what  yo'  know  am  wonct  be'n,  an'  yo'  hab  seed  de 
come'n  steps,  an'  yo'  caint  help  but  walk  in  de  way  yo' 
saw  de  signs  movin'."  He  pointed  to  the  door.  "  De 
come'n  ob  de  sign  am  axin'  yo'  t'  go  on." 

I  left  the  cabin,  and  passed  down  a  path  that  led  to 
Stringtown. 


317 


CHAPTER   LII 


MY    ^B^OND    /OCRNEY    OVER    A    PATH    I    NEVER    YET 
HAD    TROD 

MANY  and  varied  were  the  emotions  that  passed 
through  my  mind  as  I  left  that  door.  What 
strange  mirror  had  Cupe  in  his  possession  that  could 
lead  me  to  imagine  that  I  was  looking  at  my  past  move 
ments  ?  u  Pshaw  !  "  I  said  aloud,  "  the  negro  has 
made  a  fool  of  me." 

But  there  came  then  to  mind  the  curious  manner  in  which 
he  touched  upon  my  movements  in  Cincinnati.  Slowly 
I  passed  along,  stopping  often  to  think  over  the  incidents 
related,  and  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  passed 
that  way  before.  Yes,  I  saw  that  I  was  simply  retrac 
ing  a  path  over  which  I  had  recently  walked  ;  and  yet  I 
knew  that  I  came  to  the  cabin  by  another  path,  and  that 
not  for  four  years  had  I  been  there  previously.  Objects 
by  the  wayside  were  familiar,  and  as  I  passed  along  I 
anticipated  those  that  would  next  appear. 

I  stooped  over  and  picked  a  modest  little  blue  blossom 
that  peeped  from  a  tuft  of  grass  by  the  path  —  I  had 
picked  that  same  flower  before  from  beside  that  exact 
clump  of  grass  —  and  as  I  pinned  it  to  my  lapel  I  appre 
ciated  that  once  before  I  had  pinned  that  identical  flower 
to  the  lapel  as  now  I  did  it. 

"  Strange,"  I  thought  to  myself,  u  I  meet  detail  ex 
periences  now  that  I  did  not  notice  when  reading  the 
mirror,  but  which  I  perceive^  now  that  I  am  reminded 

318 


My  Second  Journey,  &c. 

of  them,  are  surely  repetitions  of  past  incidents."  And 
then  I  caught  the  fact  that  the  mirror  seemingly  opened 
conspicuous  phases  of  life  and  held  them  before  my  gaze, 
but  left  the  impress  of  others  to  be  revived  on  my  intel 
lect.  These  reflections  sifted  through  my  mind  as  I 
passed  for  the  second  time  along  that  narrow  path,  the 
path  I  had  recently  seen  myself  following,  and  then  my 
thoughts  turned  towards  Susie  and  unbidden  came  to  my 
lips  the  lines  of  a  favourite  song  of  that  day  : 

'T  was  down  in  the  meadows,  the  violets  were  blooming 

And  the  springtime  grass  was  fresh  and  green. 
And  the  birds  by  the  brooklet  their  sweet  songs  were  singing, 
When  I  first  met  my  darling,  Daisy  Deane. 

"  Don't  sing  the  song  out,  please." 

I  had  turned  a  sharp  angle  in  the  thickest  banked 
hollow  and  Susie  stood  before  me.  She  was  slowly 
walking  toward  her  home ;  her  downcast  eyes  were 
shaded  by  her  sunbonnet,  and  her  gaze  rested  on  the 
path  before  her.  She  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on 
my  own,  this  child  woman,  whose  youthful  face,  not 
withstanding  her  childishness,  was  womanly  in  expres 
sion.  "  I  have  been  to  the  cabin,  Miss  Susie,"  I  said  ; 
u  it  may  be  my  last  visit,  for  soon  I  start  North  to  pre 
pare  for  the  task  I  have  assumed  ;  but  you  know  that 
you  said  I  might  come  again." 

Not  heeding  my  words,  the  girl  extended  her  hand ;  I 
took  it  in  my  own,  and  held  it  too  long,  I  fear,  before 
releasing  it.  u  Mr.  Drew,"  she  said,  u  you  must  come 
no  more  to  my  home."  I  began  to  protest,  but  she 
interrupted.  "Do  not  deny  me  this  favour;  I  am  in 
earnest,  deeply  in  earnest.  Come  no  more  to  my  cabin, 
avoid  Cupe,  avoid  Dinah "  —  she  hesitated  an  instant, 
just  enough  to  show  that  she  had  hesitated  —  and  con 
tinued  :  u  Bid  me  good-bye  forever." 

319 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  Susie,  this  is  cruel.  What  have  I  done  to  provoke 
you  ?  Did  I  not  ask  you  to  forgive  my  rudeness  the 
night  I  met  Red-Head  in  your  home  ?  " 

"  I  bear  you  no  ill  will  for  that,"  she  answered.  "  I 
was  partly  at  fault,  and  I  am  sorry  for  my  last  remark ; 
I  did  not  give  the  rose  to  Red-Head." 

"  I  already  know  that,  and  yet  I  thank  you  for  telling 
me.  But  why  did  you  tantalise  me,  what  object  had 
you  in  declining  to  give  me  the  second  rose,  why  did 
you  irritate  me  by  leading  me  to  believe  that  you  in 
tended  to  give  it  to  him  ?" 

"  Am  I  not  a  girl  ?  Why  should  you  take  that  so 
seriously  ?  Had  you  the  discernment  of  a  girl  you 
would  not  have  asked  me  to  give  you  the  second  rose ;  it 
was  foolish  in  me  to  proffer  you,  unasked,  the  first  one." 

"  Let  the  matter  drop.  I  have  one  of  the  roses  and 
Red-Head  did  not  get  the  other.  Susie,  twice  only  in 
four  years  have  I  called  at  your  home  to  meet  you ;  at 
neither  time  did  I  get  the  chance  to  tell  you  why  I  made 
the  visit." 

u  Nor  must  you  tell  me  now." 

"Susie,  I'll  not  leave  you  this  time  without  having 
my  say.  I  — " 

"  Please,  Mr.  Drew,"  she  interrupted,  "  first  listen  to 
me." 

u  Go  on,  Miss  Susie.  But  when  you  have  finished  I 
shall  tell  you  what  twice  before  I  have  tried  to  say." 

Not  heeding  me,  she  continued :  "  I  am  a  lonely 
girl  reared  by  the  negroes.  I  have  been  wild  and  care 
less,  but  am  so  no  longer.  If  I  have  a  father,  he  has 
no  child  in  me.  My  mother  was  shot  during  the  war, 
I  cannot  remember  her.  Youth  has  been  in  my  case  a 
strange  story  of  negro  lore  and  superstition,  of  human 
neglect  and  inhuman  loneliness.  I  remember  less  of 

320 


My  Second  Journey,  &c. 

pleasure  than  of  trouble,  less  of  kindness  than  of  rude 
ness.  I  am  prematurely  old  in  some  things,  but  this  is 
not  my  fault ;  no  other  girl  in  Stringtown  has  had  cause 
to  think  as  have  I  of  things  that  crush  the  joys  of  child 
hood.  No  girl  companion  ever  crosses  the  threshold  of 
my  home,  nor  do  I  meet  any  in  their  own.  Why 
should  I  be  young  ?  Mr.  Drew,  to  think  as  I  have 
done  since  I  was  taught  my  place  among  people  is  to 
learn  more  of  some  things  than  many  who  are  much 
older  know.  To  feel  the  undeserved  touch  of  shame  is 
to  realise  what  shame  really  is.  To  meet  the  shrinking 
eye  and  the  withdrawn  hand,  to  hear  the  sneer  of  the 
heartless  tongue,  brings  care  and  sorrow  that  brushes 
youth  away  early.  I  am  alone  with  Cupe  and  Dinah; 
nearly  as  old  in  feeling,  I  sometimes  imagine,  as  are 
they.  You  have  been  kind  in  thinking  of  me.  I  don't 
know  why  you  act  as  you  do,  but  you  are  indiscreet  and 
have  no  right  to  injure  yourself  and  wrong  me  by  per 
sisting  in  your  visits.  I  wish  to  be  left  alone ;  and 
while  I  feel  deeply  grateful  for  your  good  will,  I  cannot 
permit  any  further  attention." 

"  Susie,  you  wrong  both  of  us  by  this  idle  talk.  You 
are  a  girl,  and  yet  you  take  life  as  seriously  as  if  you 
were  a  full-grown  woman." 

"  Cares  and  thoughts  that  are  bred  of  snubs  and 
sneers  have  cut  off  my  girlhood.  I  have  already  told 
you  that.  I  have  no  mother  to  take  a  mother's  part  for 
me  ;  I  must  be  a  woman.  I  know  some  things  too 
well  to  require  information  from  others  concerning 
them,  and  one  of  these  is  that  you  have  brought  me 
much  trouble." 

"  I,  Susie,  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you.  It  was  you  who  asked  that  I  might  be 
educated,  who  led  me  to  receive  the  instruction  that 
21  321 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

enabled  me  to  understand  my  position  in  life.  Were  1 
the  wild  ignorant  girl  I  should  have  been  but  for  your 
interference,  I  might  now  be  happy  with  the  negroes, 
knowing  nothing  concerning  the  world  nor  of  what 
others  have  and  are  in  the  world,  nor  yet  of  what  I  am 
myself.  You  did  a  wrong,  Mr.  Drew,  in  thus  showing 
me  what  other  girls  are,  and  in  picturing  my  utter  dis 
grace  and  absolute  helplessness.  I  could  not  have  felt 
these  things  had  you  left  me  in  ignorance." 

"Miss—" 

"  Nothing  but  Susie,  if  you  please,"  she  interjected, 
observing  that  I  hesitated. 

u  Susie,"  I  continued,  "  these  things  that  you  brood 
over  concern  me  not  at  all  and  do  you  no  harm.  You 
magnify  your  misfortunes ;  you  misjudge  men  and 
women  ;  you  wrong  your  friends  and  hurt  those  who 
would  be  your  friends.  I  speak  from  my  heart,  Susie ; 
you  wrong  me  too,  and  to  prove  it  I  shall  tell  you 
now  what  I  came  twice  before  to  say.  I  — " 

"  Stop,"  she  cried ;  "  before  you  finish  the  words  you 
intend  to  speak,  I  would  ask  —  have  you  spoken  to 
your  mother  ?  " 

Surely  the  girl  knew  what  I  intended  to  ask.  Her 
manner  showed  that,  and  now  my  heart  leaped,  for  her 
tone  was  not  that  of  one  offended  or  unfriendly,  but 
rather  of  earnest  questioning. 

"  No  ;  but  she  will  make  no  objection  to  —  " 

"  First  ask  her,  and  if  she  makes  no  objection,  you 
may  come  to  the  cabin  and  finish  the  question  you  would 
ask  of  me.  Promise  to  do  this,"  she  pleaded. 

u  You  have  my  promise,  Susie,  but  you  need  have  no 
question  concerning  the  result.  I  shall  return  to-night 
—  yes,  this  very  afternoon.  I  '11  tell  you  then  that 
which  I  have  started  three  times  to  say." 

322 


My  Second  Journey,  &c. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  will  not  come  back 
to-night,  neither  will  it  be  to-morrow  nor  yet  the  next 
day.  No,  never.  You  may  meet  rne  by  accident,  I 
may  come  to  you  —  Cupe  says  that  I  '11  kneel  on  the 
floor  and  with  tears  in  my  eyes  beg  justice  of  you  — 
but  whether  this  is  true  or  not  you  will  never  come  to 
me  with  these  words  on  your  lips  again." 

"  You  will  never  come  again,"  she  continued  ;  "  others 
have  turned  away,  none  are  left  but  Red-Head  and  my 
guardian  —  none,  and  you,  too,  will  come  no  more. 
Farewell."  Her  hand  trembled  as  I  again  clasped  it, 
and  now  its  touch  was  cold.  Her  eyes  met  mine,  and 
I  saw  that  they  were  filled  with  tears.  u  May  1  have 
the  flower  you  wear  in  your  lapel  ?  "  she  asked.  u  Why 
do  you  ask  that  of  me  ?  "  I  said.  "  Take  it,  though, 
and  if  ever  you  need  a  friend,  one  who  will  grant  your 
every  wish,  you  who  claim  that  you  have  no  friends, 
need  but  show  that  flower  to  me.  Whatever  It  may  £/, 
and  wherever  I  may  be,  you  have  but  to  ask" 

"Thank  you,  and  farewell,  Mr.  Drew.  You  have 
been  kind  to  me,  but  very  thoughtless  I  think  about 
yourself.  I  forgive  you  the  wrong  you  have  done  in 
the  unsought  education  that  shows  me  my  position. 
But  I  wish  that  it  could  be  forever  lost." 

I  stood  in  silence.  She  turned  and  walked  up  the 
path  the  way  I  came,  vanishing  around  the  clump  of 
hazel,  and  then  I  turned  toward  Stringtown.  Now 
came  again  to  my  mind  the  vision  that  the  mirror 
pictured ;  all  I  had  seen  therein  had  been  repeated, 
verified,  and  in  addition  my  ear  had  now  heard  the  con 
versation  that  the  mirror  failed  to  give. 


323 


CHAPTER   LIII 

-NEVER,    UNLESS    DUTY    CALLS,    SHALL    I    RETURN 
TO    STRINGTOWN  " 

MY  patient,  loving  mother,  whose  life  had  been  a 
constant  sacrifice  for  her  son,  once  a  source  of 
deep  humiliation,  now  an  object  of  pride,  sat  that  after 
noon  in  the  little  room  sewing  by  the  centre  table.  I 
entered  with  quick  step,  with  happy  heart,  with  no  mis 
givings  concerning  the  result  of  my  mission.  The 
fulfilment  of  my  desires  had  been  to  her  a  source  of 
great  pleasure  heretofore  ;  she  had  never  denied  me  a 
request  that  was  right  and  that  could  be  conceded. 

"  Mother  "  —  I  said,  seating  myself  beside  her  chair, 
—  "I  am  now  twenty-one  years  of  age.  I  have  a  good 
position,  where  advancement  is  certain,  and  where  I 
shall  win  yet  higher  honours.  In  order  to  prepare  for 
the  course  I  have  mapped  out  I  must  leave  Stringtown 
in  a  few  days.  Before  going,  however,  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you  concerning  a  very  important  subject." 

u  Go  on,  my  son,"  said  she,  laying  aside  her  sewing. 

"  Mother,  you  know  that  I  have  been  offered  an 
assistant  position  in  chemistry.  I  hope  to  make  a  better 
home  than  this  for  you  in  a  few  years,  and  to  give  you 
a  life  of  peace  and  rest.  For  me  you  have  worked  your 
fingers  sore,  have  slaved  since  I  can  remember." 

"  You  must  first  make  a  happy  home  for  yourself,  my 
boy ;  that  should  be  your  object,  one  to  which,  in  case 
of  necessity,  your  old  mother  may  come  and  end  her 

324 


"Never,  unless  Duty  Calls,  &c." 

days.  But  for  a  time  at  least  I  shall  not  think  of  leav 
ing  Stringtown.  Look  forward  to  a  home  of  your  own ; 
seek  no  higher  ambition.  You  will  some  day  meet  one 
you  can  ask  to  go  with  you  to  the  end  of  your  journey, 
and  be  with  you,  to  love  you  and  be  loved.  This  I 
hope  to  see  accomplished  before  I  die." 

u  I  have  met  her  already,  mother,"  I  said  in  elation, 
"  and  I  came  to  ask  your  permission  to  speak  to  her,  to 
get  your  blessing  on  both  of  us  and  your  favour  for  her." 

"  So  soon,  my  son  !  Are  you  not  hasty  ?  I  thought 
and  spoke  of  the  future.  I  had  no  suspicion  of  this 
love  ;  you  did  not  tell  me  that  you  had  found  a  sweet 
heart  in  the  North." 

«  Nor  have  I." 

"  And  yet  you  keep  no  company  with  Stringtown 
girls." 

"  No,  and  shall  not.  I  am  in  love,  but  my  love  is 
neither  in  the  North  nor  in  Stringtown.  I  love  the  girl 
who  lives  with  Cupe  and  Dinah,  the  girl  called  Susie." 

My  mother  dropped  the  garment  she  held  in  her 
hand. 

u  You  do  not  mean  it,  Sammy." 

"  Mother,  I  speak  the  truth.  I  love  Susie  better  than 
life." 

"  Susie  who  ?  " 

The  question  was  cruel.  My  mother,  she  to  whom  I 
came  in  absolute  confidence,  she,  too,  emphasised  the 
word  who^  and  as  unmercifully  as  any  Stringtown  girl 
had  done.  I  stood  up  in  anger,  indignation  for  the  first 
time  toward  my  mother  entered  my  heart. 

u  c  Who  ? '  whv,  Susie,  only  Susie,  and  I  who  am 
concerned  most  of  any  care  for  nothing  else.  Some  day 
she  will  be  Susie  Drew,  and  then  I  '11  beat  the  face  of 
the  man  who  says  '  Susie  who  ?  '  to  me,  and  I  '11  teach 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  —  "  but  my  mother  had  spoken  the  word  "«;£0"  — 
I  did  not  finish  the  remark. 

"  My  son,  you  must  listen  to  your  mother.  Have 
you  asked  the  girl  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"She  is  an  adventuress, — yes,  worse,  a  girl  without 
character,  one  who  has  no  friends  among  respectable 
people,  who  is  shunned  by  the  village  girls  and  neglected 
by  the  village  boys.  Her  history  is  one  of  shameful 
birth,  if  report  speaks  true ;  to  be  disgraced  by  birth  is  a 
lasting  stigma  unforgivable.  Subsequent  environment  has 
added  nothing  to  remove  the  stain,  —  she  has  been  negro- 
bred.  Listen  to  your  mother,  my  dear  boy,  see  her  no 
more." 

u  And  this  from  you,  mother  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  old  enough  to  speak  advisedly.  You 
are  young,  a  pretty  face  excites  what  you  think  is  love, 
—  it  is  puppy  love,  my  child,  and  when  the  face  is  out 
of  sight  will  soon  fade  away.  You  cannot  realise  that  to 
marry  that  girl  will  be  to  blast  your  life  and  disgrace 
your  mother.  How  did  this  artful  adventuress  manage 
to  entangle  you  ?  She  's  a  dangerous  girl.  Surely  the 
villagers  do  not  know  of  the  affair,  or  else  I  would  long 
since  have  known  of  it." 

"  Mother,  I  cannot  take  this  kindly,  even  from  you. 
I  must  have  my  say.  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  Susie  is 
as  pure  and  holy  as  was  ever  girl  or  woman.  She  has 
been  unfortunate  in  birth ;  she  does  not  know  her  father, 
much  to  his  shame,  and  not  to  her  disgrace;  her  life  has 
been  a  dreary,  lonely  one,  and  her  companions  have  been 
her  books  and  the  negroes.  From  the  one  she  has  prof 
ited,  the  others  have  served  her  well,  —  be  it  said  to  their 
credit  and  to  Stringtown's  discredit.  You  say  that  I  am 
possessed  by  '  puppy  love,'  that  when  the  face  is  gone 

326 


"Never,  unless  Duty  Calls,  &c." 

the  love  will  fade  away.  That  is  not  so.  You  say  that 
to  marry  Susie  will  be  to  blast  my  life,  that  my  marriage 
to  the  girl  will  disgrace  you,  my  mother.  And  why  ? 
Because  of  an  unwritten  law  that  scoundrels  make,  and 
society  follows,  that  reaches  even  such  as  you,  and  does 
not  credit  you,  who  seek  to  save  discredit  from  your  son. 
You  called  that  girl  an  adventuress,  but  the  facts  are  that 
your  son  made  the  advances.  I  sought  her,  but  she  gave 
no  encouragement.  I  forced  my  attentions  on  her,  and 
she  met  them  coldly.  She  has  been  wronged  by  you. 
I  must  say  this,  even  to  you,  mother." 

1  sank  on  my  knees  by  her  side,  and  as  if  I  were  again 
a  child,  buried  my  face  in  her  lap,  while  tears,  born  of 
humiliation,  indignation,  disappointment,  and  sorrow, 
gushed  from  my  eyes.  She  gently  stroked  my  hair,  back 
and  forth,  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do  when  I  was  a 
child. 

"  Heed  the  words  of  your  mother,  Sammy.  Disgrace 
that  falls  upon  and  lingers  over  the  name  of  woman  can 
never  be  brushed  away." 

"  But  she  has  done  nothing  wrong,  this  forlorn  girl ; 
she  is  helpless." 

u  The  world  makes  no  allowance  for  the  fact  that  the 
girl  is  not  at  fault;  she  is  unfortunate,  and  must  accept 
the  odium  that  rests  upon  her  name.  Does  not  the  Bible 
say  words  to  the  effect  that  the  sins  of  the  parents  shall 
be  visited  upon  the  children  ?  " 

"  Don't  make  me  hate  the  Bible,  mother  !  " 

"  My  child  !  " 

"  Listen  now  to  me,  mother."  I  arose  and  seated 
myself  on  my  chair,  calm,  composed.  u  I  shall  leave 
Stringtown  to-night — yes,  this  very  night.  My  vaca 
tion  scarce  commenced,  ends  to-night.  Never,  unless 
duty  calls,  shall  I  return  to  Stringtown,  unless  you  give 

327 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

me  permission  to  go  to  Susie  as  a  suitor,  free  to  ask  her 
to  be  my  wife,  or  unless  Susie  permits  me  to  visit  her.  I 
have  made  a  fool  of  myself  in  my  usual  way,  —  that  of 
thoughtlessly  acceding  to  a  request  that  I  should  never 
have  granted.  I  intended  to  ask  Susie  to  be  my  wife 
to-day,  and  then  to  ask  your  blessing ;  but  thinking  only 
that  you  would  approve  of  it,  I  agreed  to  ask  your  con^ 
sent  first." 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  my  child,  that  some  far-seeing 
friend,  one  who  comprehends  the  effect  of  social  disgrace, 
has  prevented  this  terrible  mistake.  Whoever  he  or  she 
may  be,  my  heartfelt  thanks  and  gratitude  go  out  to  him 
or  her.  Had  you  not  made  this  promise,  you  might 
now  have  been  in  the  toils  of  the  adventuress." 

"  You  have  blessed  the  girl ;  for  this  I  thank  you," 
I  said,  but  added  no  further  word  of  explanation.  Then 
I  arose  and  strode  back  and  forth  across  the  little  room. 
Suddenly  I  turned  to  my  mother  : 

"  I  shall  take  the  bus  this  evening  for  my  new  posi 
tion.  My  trunk  is  scarce  unpacked.  I  shall  leave 
Stringtown  now ." 


328 


CHAPTER   LIV 

FAREWELL    TO    SUSIE 

I  STEPPED  into  my  room  and  wrote  a  note  which, 
hastily  sealing,  I  addressed  with  the  simple  word 
"  Susie."  What  else  could  I  have  used,  what  else  but 
"  Susie  Who  ?  "  Then  I  called  a  boy  from  the  street 
and  paid  him  liberally  to  deliver  it  immediately.  The 
letter  was  permissible,  for  although  I  agreed  not  to  call 
on  her,  I  had  not  promised  the  girl  that  I  would  not 
write. 

Love  letters,  I  have  heard,  are  not  as  a  rule  very  edi 
fying  to  others.  This,  my  first,  last  and  only  love  letter, 
I  shall,  however,  venture  to  reproduce. 

DEAR  SUSIE  :  You  say  that  I  wronged  you  in  inducing  Mr. 
Wagner  to  educate  you.  To  this  I  take  no  exception.  You 
think  that  you  have  been  led  by  that  education  to  see  yourself 
disgraced.  With  this  I  take  issue.  By  reason  of  it  you  perceive 
better  the  sins  of  men  and  women  who  make  social  laws  to  pro 
tect  the  strong  and  oppress  the  weak,  to  elevate  the  villain  o£  a 
father  and  damn  his  innocent  child.  I  shall  leave  Stringtown 
this  afternoon  on  the  evening  bus,  and  by  your  command  I  go 
without  calling  on  you.  You  induced  me  to  promise  to  leave  to 
my  mother  a  question  that  concerned  myself  more  than  all 
others,  you  bound  me  to  an  oath  that  I  cannot  break,  but  which 
your  discriminative  eye  foresaw  would  lead  to  my  defeat  and  to 
my  present  distress.  For  this  I  blame  you.  Let,  then,  my 
charge  against  you  balance  the  one  you  hold  against  me.  And 
now  to  the  future.  I  leave  Stringtown  anxious  to  complete  the 
sentence  which,  incomplete  as  it  is,  I  shall  hold  sacred  until  my 

329 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

mother  gives  me  the  privilege  of  returning  to  your  side  or  until 
you  permit  me  to  come  and  finish  it.  I  obey  my  mother 
because  you  command  it,  otherwise  I  should  firmly  insist  on 
using  my  own  good  will  ;  you  know  what  that  will  is.  I  sol 
emnly  swear  that  it  shall  never  change  while  life  lasts. 

Yours, 

SAMUEL  DREW. 

Then  I  turned  to  help  my  mother  pack  the  trunk 
that  a  few  days  previously  came  with  me  from  the 
North.  In  a  short  time  it  was  strapped  and  rolled  to  the 
gate.  I  bade  her  farewell,  and  at  last  as  the  shadows 
lengthened  started  for  the  bus  which,  delayed  by  an  acci 
dent,  late  that  afternoon  rolled  into  Stringtown.  As  I 
mounted  the  box  to  the  familiar  seat  beside  the  driver, 
old  Cupe  shuffled  to  my  side  and  thrust  a  letter  into  my 
hand,  then  left  me  without  a  word.  The  four-in-hand 
rolled  off,  stopped  a  moment  before  my  mother's  door, 
where  my  trunk  was  thrown  aboard,  and  then  rumbled 
on  again.  Once  more  I  saw  mother  standing  with 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  but  this  time  I  felt  that  had 
she  cared  more  for  her  boy  and  less  for  the  traditions  of 
society,  joy  might  both  have  brightened  her  face  and 
gladdened  my  heart. 

Then  I  opened  the  letter  that  lies  now  before  my 
eyes  : 

Mr.  Samuel  Drew. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  In  reply  to  your  letter,  it  is  my  opinion  that 
you  wrong  your  mother.  She  should  not  be  blamed  for  loving 
you  too  well  to  permit  you  to  disgrace  yourself.  I  am  unfor 
tunate,  through  no  act  of  my  own,  it  is  true,  but  yet  unfortunate, 
and  I  know  it.  Were  I  in  the  place  of  one  of  your  Stringtown 
girls,  and  she  in  mine,  I  would  probably  shun  her  as  now  I  am 
shunned.  The  mark  of  shame  rests  over  my  life.  The  social 
rules  that  govern  people  cannot  be  changed,  nor  should  they  ; 

330 


Farewell  to  Susie 

for  to  relax  social  vigilance  would  be  to  open  the  door  to  crime 
and  immorality.  I  have  racked  my  brain  over  the  matter,  have 
read  and  studied  social  science,  and  although  I  am  young,  the  sub 
ject  has  disturbed  me  for  years.  You  have  my  thanks  for  your 
good  will  —  this  I  have  told  you  before.  You  will  merit  them 
the  more  if  you  look  to  your  own  future,  and  forget  the  past  so 
far  as  it  concerns  me.  Undo  your  hasty,  thoughtless  pledges, 
strive  to  excel  in  good  deeds  and  leave  the  negro- bred  girl 
Susie  to  pass  in  peace  wherever  chance  or  duty  leads  her.  Mr. 
Drew,  you  are  far  above  me.  Of  all  the  persons  I  know,  Red- 
Head  alone  stands  in  actual  sympathy  and  on  an  equality  with 
such  as  J.  Let,  then,  my  life  be  spent  in  sympathy  with  those 
to  whom  such  as  I  must  be  in  touch,  let  the  unended  sentence 
you  have  three  times  commenced  rest  unfinished  forever. 

Very  truly  yours, 

SUSIE. 

While  I  was  reading  the  letter  the  driver  stopped  the 
team  in  order  to  arrange  a  defective  piece  of  harness  on 
one  of  the  horses,  and  as  I  raised  my  eyes  I  saw  Red- 
Head  beneath  a  tree  by  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road. 
Tall,  erect,  lithe,  he  stood  not  more  than  twenty  feet 
from  me,  gazing  directly  into  my  face.  A  sensation  akin 
to  pity  for  the  young  man  came  over  me,  a  kindly  feel 
ing  for  one  neglected  as  he  had  been.  I  raised  my  hat 
politely  and  bowed.  But  he,  without  any  recognition 
whatever,  gazed  stoically  into  my  face  and  whistled. 
Then  the  devil  touched  my  heart,  and  in  a  low  tone, 
that  was  the  more  effective  because  of  this  fact,  I  asked  : 
u  Why  do  you  not  go  back  to  the  mountains ;  cannot 
you  handle  a  Springfield  rifle  yet  ?  "  He  made  no 
reply,  and  I  continued :  "  How  about  that  mountain 
feud  ?  Holcomb  will  get  tired  of  waiting  for  you  to 
grow  bigger." 

Indifferent  to  the  taunt,  he  stood  motionless.  The 
coach  now  moved  on,  and  as  it  did  so  I  spoke  the 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

meanest  words  I  ever  used  :  "  You  're  very  willing  to 
talk  fight,  you  who  dare  not  go  back  to  the  mountains 
where  lives  old  man  Holcomb."  But  even  this  brought 
no  reply ;  like  a  statue  he  remained  in  the  shadow, 
watching  the  stage  on  which  I  sat,  watching  it  until 
around  a  bend  in  the  pike  the  lumbering  vehicle  dis 
appeared  from  his  view. 


332 


CHAPTER  LV 

PROFESSOR    SAMUEL   DREW 

INTO  the  University  I  stepped  with  embittered  heart 
and  rebellious  spirit.  Ambition  still  possessed  me, 
but  not  such  ambition  as  should  have  animated  a  poor 
widow's  son  with  my  prospects.  The  professor  whom 
I  was  to  assist  greeted  me  kindly,  and  I  found  him  to 
be  a  charming  old  man,  engrossed  in  the  love  of  his 
science.  He  took  pains  to  introduce  me  at  once  to 
those  of  his  colleagues  who  still  lingered  about  the 
University,  although  most  members  of  the  faculty  were 
now  enjoying  their  vacation  elsewhere. 

"  You  please  me  very  much,  Mr.  Drew,"  he  remarked 
during  our  first  audience.  "Not  many  young  men 
would  sacrifice  their  summer  vacation  as  you  have  done 
in  order  to  acquaint  themselves  with  the  exacting  details 
of  a  new  work.  It  speaks  well  for  your  future,  for  while 
genius  is  often  useful  and  sometimes  leads  to  fortune, 
the  men  who  make  successes  of  their  lives  are  those 
who  work  while  others  rest.  Surely  it  must  have  re 
quired  more  than  a  little  self-sacrifice  on  your  part  to 
leave  your  mother,  your  friends,  your  —  "  he  glanced  slyly 
out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  —  "  your  sweetheart !  " 

"  Let  it  pass,"  I  answered ;  u  forget  that  I  came 
before  duty  called  me.  I  shall  do  my  utmost  to  credit 
myself  in  the  future." 

Many  were  the  compliments  the  old  professor  gave 
me,  for  my  daily  application  pleased  him,  and  when  the 

333 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

president  returned  from  abroad,  he  praised  me  in  my 
very  presence,  informing  him  that  I  had  sacrificed  my 
vacation  and  devoted  my  entire  time  to  the  University 
work,  "  and,"  he  added,  u  credit  for  the  changed  con 
dition  of  the  laboratory  and  chemical  department  is  due 
to  his  personal  efforts. "  But  I  thought  of  the  girl  who 
once  stood  before  me  in  the  path  near  Stringtown,  and 
the  events  that  had  followed  the  request  she  made  ;  of 
the  bitter  spirit  and  heart  madness  with  which  I  came  to 
this  work  ;  and  realising  how  unearned  was  the  praise 
bestowed  upon  me,  demurred. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  I  said.     "  I  deserve  no  credit." 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy  !  and  to  whom  is  the  credit  due  ?  " 

The  answer  and  the  question  were  alike  unexpected  ; 
the  eyes  of  both  were  quizzing  me. 

"  To  Susie." 

The  old  man  chuckled,  and  slyly  poked  the  president 
in  the  ribs  with  his  thumb,  a  thing  I  did  not  expect  to 
see  a  dignified  professor  do  to  a  great  president. 

"  And  who  is  Susie  ?  " 

That  hateful  term  again,  "  Who  is  Susie  ?  "  Could 
I  never  get  away  from  it  ?  But  regard  for  the  men  led 
me  to  be  decorous  now  and  to  suppress  my  indignation. 

"  She  's  a  girl,  and  lives  near  Stringtown." 

Again  the  professor  chuckled.  "  Let  the  credit  be 
with  Susie;  "  then  he  added  :  "  Let  us  hope  the  time  may 
come  when  we  may  meet  Susie  in  the  University." 

u  She  '11  never  come  to  this  University  while  I  am 
here,  and  never  again  shall  I  visit  Stringtown  while  she 
is  there.  We  are  nothing  to  each  other,  for  she  will 
not  have  it  so.  I  beg  you,  though,  to  give  Susie  the 
credit  for  my  early  appearance,  and  pass  the  matter 
forever." 

u  Pardon  us,  Mr.  Drew ;  we  unintentionally  touched 
334 


Professor  Samuel  Drew 

a  tender  spot ;  pardon  our  thoughtless  familiarity,"  said 
the  professor.  They  passed  from  the  room  and  I  turned 
sadly  to  my  work.  But  I  could  not  help  thinking  that 
the  old  professor  reminded  me  very  much  of  Judge 
Elford,  and  I  could  but  wonder  how  the  dignified  presi 
dent  of  a  University  could  be  punched  in  the  ribs  with 
out  being  offended.  And  so  I  began  my  new  found 
task  which  grew  more  enticing  as  the  seasons  passed, 
during  which  period,  true  to  my  word,  I  refrained  from 
visiting  Stringtown. 

The  death  of  good  old  Professor  Longman,  who  died 
after  a  short  illness,  left  me,  in  the  middle  of  a  subse 
quent  session,  in  full  charge  of  the  classes,  and  faithful 
attention  to  my  duties,  together  with  the  commendations 
he  had  bestowed  upon  me  during  his  life,  led  the  trustees 
subsequently  to  appoint  me  to  the  vacancy,  to  which 
knowing  well  my  youthfulness,  I  did  not  presume  to 
aspire.  But  it  seems  that  the  president  had  declared 
in  my  favour  and  was  not  afraid  of  young  blood.  He 
appeared  personally  before  the  Board  and  expressed  him 
self  to  that  effect,  which  left  them  no  reason,  had  they 
been  so  inclined,  to  seek  elsewhere  for  a  successor. 
Hence  the  Announcement  of  the  University  on  the  Hill, 
following  the  death  of  Professor  Longman,  bore  my 
name  as  Professor  of  Chemistry,  and  thus  it  was  that 
I  became  unexpectedly  honoured ;  but  of  this  I  need 
say  nothing  further,  for  I  was  now  a  man,  and  knew 
that  hard  work  had  earned  that  position  for  me. 

The  middle  of  the  session  following  my  appointment 
found  me  one  day  sitting  in  my  private  office  reading 
a  letter  from  my  mother.  It  contained  the  usual  loving 
messages,  and  the  neighbourhood  gossip  was  also  brought 
to  date.  But  its  ending,  which  I  reproduce,  cast  a 
shadow  over  my  heart: 

335 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 


Mr.  Nordman,  the  old  gentleman  who  lived  beside  the  pike 
south  of  Stringtown,  died  suddenly  this  morning.  He  had  been 
very  feeble,  but  otherwise  seemed  to  enjoy  good  health.  He 
Was  attacked  with  a  misery  in  his  stomach  immediately  after 
breakfast,  and  died  soon  after  the  doctor  reached  his  bedside. 

I  held  the  letter  listlessly  in  my  hand  and  mused : 
"  Now  he,  too,  will  lie  in  the  little  graveyard  behind 
the  house."  And  musing  thus,  the  single  shaft  in  the 
family  graveyard  appeared  before  my  mind-sight;  that 
shaft  to  the  south  of  which  rested  his  child,  the  Southern 
soldier,  and  to  the  north  of  which  lay  the  Union  son. 
And  next  came  to  mind  and  sight  the  form  of  Mr. 
Nordman,  as  the  day  before  I  left  Stringtown,  he  led 
me  to  the  spot  where  rested  his  two  boys.  And  then 
recurred  the  words  of  advice  he  gave  me  as  we  parted  : 
"  The  grass  grows  no  greener,  the  violets  bloom  no 
earlier,  over  the  one  than  jover  the  other.  c  The  wah 
is  over,  Sammy.' ' 

u  The  war  is  surely  over  now  for  you,  Mr.  Nord 
man,"  I  sadly  said  to  myself,  and  then  turned  to  my 
work. 


335 


CHAPTER   LVI 

THE    STRINGTOWN    POISON    CASE 

THE  lectures  passed  day  by  day,  the  laboratory 
classes  were  drilled,  as  usual,  and  yet  that  sen 
tence  <jf  Mr.  Nordman  rang  in  my  ears  and  came  un 
bidden  to  mind  when  no  cause  seemed  to  excite  it. 

The  figure  of  Mr.  Nordman  seemed  constantly  before 
my  eyes,  his  words  rang  ever  in  my  ears,  and  try  as  I 
might  I  could  not  beat  them  out. 

"  What  had  Mr.  Nordman  to  do  with  me,  that  the 
announcement  of  his  death  should  thus  concern  me  ?  " 
I  asked  this  question,  and  then  argued  that  this  domina 
tion  of  my  mind  by  his  form  and  voice  was  simply  the 
result  of  habit,  a  fit  of  melancholy  permitted  it,  a  sour 
stomach,  perhaps,  induced  it.  Surely  Mr.  Nordman's 
death  was  of  no  greater  concern  to  me  than  was  that  of 
many  other  men  in  Stringtown  who  had  died  since  I 
knew  the  village.  Then  came  a  second  letter  from 
Stringtown,  a  letter  in  a  strange  hand,  but  which  bore 
the  well-known  Stringtown  postmark.  It  was  written 
by  the  attorney  who  had  prosecuted  old  negro  Cupe  in 
the  trial  wherein  he  was  freed  by  Right  of  Clergy,  and 
I  learned  from  it  that  the  writer  was  again  prosecuting 
attorney  of  Stringtown  County.  Let  me  give  the  letter 
in  full : 

MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  DREW  :  As  prosecuting  attorney  of 
Stringtown  County,  it  becomes  my  duty  to  engage  an  expert 
chemist  in  behalf  of  the  Commonwealth.  Can  I  secure  your 

337 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

services  ?  The  case  is  one  of  importance,  and  knowing  you  as 
I  do,  and  knowing,  too,  the  esteem  in  which  you  are  held  by 
the  people  of  our  county,  I  hope  that  you  will  consent  to  serve 
us.  We  wish  an  analysis  made  of  the  contents  of  the  stomach 
of  Mr.  Nordman,  whom  you  probably  remember,  t  will  add 
that  I  guarantee  your  fee,  which  will  be  paid  by  the  adminis 
trator  of  the  estate.  Please  let  me  hear  from  you  at  once. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Z.     B.     PUTTEN. 

I  turned  to  my  desk  and  at  once  accepted  the  offer, 
giving  explicit  directions  concerning  the  manner  in  which 
the  suspected  parts  were  to  be  secured,  sealed  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses  and  then  expressed  to  my  address. 
The  letter  posted,  I  turned  to  my  books  and  sought  the 
sections  devoted  to  the  detection  of  poisons,  after  which 
I  sat  in  meditation.  Do  not  ct  coming  events  cast  their 
shadows  before  ?  '*  In  what  other  way  than  on  this 
hypothesis  can  I  account  for  the  persistence  with  which 
I  had  been  pursued  by  the  form  and  words  of  Mr.  Nord 
man  ?  Then  came  the  thought  that  in  the  course  of 
events  duty  would  demand  that  I  go  once  more  to 
Stringtown.  Duty  calls,  and  while  away  in  her  behest 
I  may  chance  to  meet  Susie. 

Then  I  mentally  thanked  Mr.  Putten,  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  for  his  confidence  in  my  ability,  and  did  not 
feel  unkindly  toward  Mr.  Nordman  for  the  part  he  had 
taken  in  my  personal  affairs. 

But  when  the  express  package  reached  me,  that 
wooden-bound  box  securely  encased  in  hoop  iron,  a  sen 
sation  which  I  cannot  correctly  voice  in  writing  came 
over  me.  And  when  my  assistant  opened  the  box  and 
removed  from  it  the  large  glass  fruit  jar  closely  wrapped 
in  stiff  manilla  paper  and  sealed  with  red  wax  bearing  the 
official  stamp  of  the  sheriff,  I  felt  a  sinking  of  the  heart ; 

333 


The  Stringtown  Poison  Case 

for  I  was  not  accustomed  to  handle  such  fruit  as  that  jai 
contained.  But  a  duty  is  a  duty,  I  thought,  and  a 
gem  from  the  Jewish  Talmud  came  to  my  mind : 1 

A  man  along  that  road  is  led 
Which  he  himself  desires  to  tread  j 

and  for  the  first  time  I  questioned  if  my  repeated  use  of 
the  word  duty,  in  connection  with  this  affair,  was  not 
due  to  an  attempt  on  my  part  to  argue  my  conscience 
down.  But  it  was  too  late  now  to  retreat.  Ambition 
as  well  as  duty  bade  me  go  on.  Then  another  verse 
from  the  Talmud  formulated  itself  unbidden  and  rang  its 
changes  in  my  mental  ear : 

Ambition,  as  its  fate,  death  and  the  grave  await. 

"  Open  the  package,  William,"  I  said  to  my  assistant, 
"  remove  half  its  contents,  securely  close  and  seal  the  jar 
containing  the  other  part  and  place  it  in  a  cool  situation 
in  the  laboratory  cellar."  He  did  as  directed,  and  I 
turned  to  my  test  tubes  and  reagents. 

Systematically  I  began  the  task  I  had  undertaken  — 
the  examination  of  the  contents  of  the  jar  with  the 
object  of  discovering  if  it  contained  a  poisonous  body. 
There  is  no  need  of  a  record  of  all  the  details  of  the 
process.  It  is  enough  to  state  that  no  mineral  poison, 
no  inorganic  poisonous  acid,  was  discovered,  nor  yet  the 
formidable  prussic  acid.  Neither  was  phosphorus  pres 
ent  nor  any  poisonous  metal  or  salt  thereof.  There  was 
no  trace  of  an  arsenic  compound.  The  most  exacting 
tests  gave  negative  results  only,  and  at  last  I  turned  to 
search  for  the  vegetable  bodies  known  as  alkaloids,  which, 
as  a  rule,  are  so  energetic  in  action  ;  strychnine,  mor 
phine,  atropine,  being  typical  of  the  class.  It  will  be 

1  See  "Gems  from  the  Talmud,"  by  Rev.  Isadore  Myers,  B.A 
339 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

seen  that  these  bodies  embrace  the  most  fearful  of  the 
poisons,  and,  let  me  add,  are  detected  as  a  class  by  cer 
tain  well-known  reagents. 

William  stood  with  chin  resting  nearly  on  my  shoul 
der  and  watched  the  first  drop  of  the  sensitive  test-liquid 
slip  down  the  side  of  the  test  tube  and  strike  the  surface 
of  the  acidulated  solution  I  had  made  from  the  suspected 
material.  As  the  two  liquids  mingled  a  white  cloud 
sprang  into  view,  and  as  the  denser  drop  of  Mayer's 
Test  sank  slowly  down  into  the  yellow  liquid,  following 
the  inclined  glass  tube  to  its  very  bottom,  a  white  cloud 
marked  its  pathway,  and  when  the  liquids  were  shaken 
together  a  milky  solution  resulted.  Another  and  yet 
another  drop  of  the  test  solution  was  cautiously  added, 
and  the  liquids  successively  mixed,  producing  yet  deeper 
milkiness  ;  and  at  last,  under  the  gentle  agitation  of  the 
turbid  liquid,  changed  into  a  clear  solution  holding  clots 
of  dirty  white  precipitate,  which,  when  the  tube  was 
allowed  to  rest,  settled  to  the  bottom  in  a  heavy  layer. 

I  turned  to  my  assistant,  but  no  words  were  necessary  ; 
to  one  conversant  with  alkaloidal  tests  this  reaction  char 
acteristic  of  the  group  needed  no  explanation.  Our  eyes 
spoke  the  message  that  required  no  tongue  to  interpret. 
But  not  content  with  this,  I  took  successive  but  very 
small  portions  of  the  original  liquid  and  tested  them  sev 
erally  with  other  reagents  for  the  alkaloids,  with  unmis 
takable  returns  from  all.  Then,  as  I  made  a  careful 
record  of  the  result  in  my  note-book,  I  said  :  "  The 
next  step  is  to  identify  the  alkaloid." 

"  I  would  expect  strychnine,"  my  assistant  remarked, 
u  for  these  precipitates  seem  to  me  much  like  those  of 
strychnine." 


340 


CHAPTER  LVII 

SUSIE  PLEADS  FOR  RED-HEAD 

"  '"TpHAT  point  must  be  determined,"  I  replied.  «  It 
-*•  may  be  strychnine  or  a  mixture.  I  shall  not 
prejudice  myself  concerning  it."  And  in  the  end,  after 
several  days  had  passed,  I  was  fairly  well  satisfied,  al 
though  there  were  some  points  in  connection  with  the 
chrome-sulphuric  acid  test  which  puzzled  me.  The 
blue-violet  colour  surely  did  appear,  but  it  was  not  as 
characteristic  as  I  should  have  liked.  But  after  I  ob 
tained  white  microscopic  crystals  of  an  alkaloid  on  a 
slide  which  gave  the  reaction,  I  said  :  "  You  were  cor 
rect  in  your  prediction,  William;  strychnine  must  be 
present,  and  such  shall  be  my  testimony  before  the 
Court  of  Stringtown  County." 

But  that  evening,  for  the  first  time,  misgivings  arose 
in  my  mind.  They  came  during  the  dinner  hour,  when 
a  companion  made  an  idle  query  tnat  I  could  not  satisfac 
torily  answer,  and  so  turned  lightly  aside,  but  it  led  me  to 
questionings.  I  arose  from  the  table  and  sought  my  room. 
I  picked  up  a  light  novel,  but  could  not  interest  myself  in 
its  contents.  I  turned  to  Chambers'  Miscellany,  and  by 
chance  opened  Volume  II.  to  the  record  of  cases  wherein 
many  men  had  suffered  death  on  circumstantial  evidence 
that  in  itself  seemed  with  each  case  to  be  conclusive 
of  guilt,  but  which  afterward  was  shown  to  have  been 
erroneous.  That  work  gave  me  the  shivers.  I  turned  to 
the  Bible,  and  read  part  of  the  Book  of  Job  and  laid  i* 

341 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

down.      I   picked  up   Myers'   Gems   from  the  Talmud, 
and  caught  but  one  sentence  : 

With  the  measure  with  which  man  metes  to  men, 
It  will  be  measured  to  him  again. 

I  closed  the  book,  drew  on  my  overcoat,  and  in  a 
gathering  winter  storm  started  for  my  laboratory.  It 
was  dark,  very  dark,  and  yet  I  went  on  in  the  night, 
for  that  verse  and  my  disconcerted  emotions  impelled 
me  to  go  then  and  to  go  there.  Lighting  up  my  room, 
I  took  out  the  reagents  and  the  suspected  liquid  and 
carefully  verified  the  reactions.  I  opened  the  books 
that  are  authority  on  phytochemistry,  and  studied  the 
pages  word  by  word.  Closing  them,  I  stood  in  thought; 
then  with  my  hand  on  the  pile  of  volumes,  spoke  aloud  : 
"  If  there  be  error  in  this  work  which  I  have  done,  you 
are  at  fault,  not  I.  But  why  should  I  question  ;  am  not 
I  a  disciple  in  science  and  is  not  science  infallible?  Is 
not  the  chrome  reaction  of  strychnine  one  of  the  cer 
tainties  in  chemistry  ?  Even  to  your  bitterness  have  I 
tested  you,"  I  said,  addressing  the  liquid  before  me. 
But  still  a  doubt  possessed  me,  a  questioning  that  would 
not  have  been  had  I  possessed  enough  liquid  to  obtain 
large,  pure  crystals  of  strychnine;  nor  would  it  have 
been  a  question  in  face  of  the  reaction,  had  no  human 
life  been  at  stake.  I  raised  the  window  and  leaned  out 
of  the  opening  ;  the  scattered  flakes  of  snow  that  were 
falling  struck  my  heated  forehead,  imparting  a  pleasant 
tingle  with  each  tiny  contact.  The  cool  air  was  refresh 
ing,  for  my  brain  was  hot.  Dark  were  the  other  build 
ings  in  the  University  grounds,  dark  was  the  country 
beyond,  for  my  private  laboratory  was  situated  in  the 
second  story  and  permitted  a  view  of  the  distance. 
Across  the  field  of  my  vision  came  then  a  stream  of 

342 


Susie  Pleads  for  Red-Head 

moving  lights  ;  the  night  train  from  the  South  was  ap 
proaching,  and  I  watched  it  until  the  animated  creation 
disappeared  from  view  behind  the  building,  and  next  I 
heard  it  whistle  for  the  station.  Feeling  better  now, 
for  the  cool  air  and  the  diversion  of  thought  had  re 
laxed  my  nerves  and  soothed  my  brain,  I  turned  again 
to  my  task,  determined  to  go  once  more  with  great  care 
over  the  work  and  end  it.  I  do  not  know  how  many 
minutes  I  devoted  to  the  manipulation  —  it  must  have 
taken  half  an  hour  —  when  came  a  ring  of  the  bell  of 
the  outer  door.  I  raised  the  window,  and  saw  by  the 
feeble  light  of  the  transom  beneath  that  two  figures  stood 
just  outside  the  entrance.  Two  of  my  friends,  I  con 
jectured,  and  with  this  thought  in  mind  spoke  :  "  Open 
the  door  —  it  is  not  locked  — and  follow  the  lighted  hall 
to  my  room,  No.  13.  You  need  not  knock,  open  the 
door  and  enter." 

Again  I  turned  to  the  tube  I  held  in  my  hand  prepa 
ratory  to  the  final  test,  my  back  to  the  door,  and  was 
thus  employed  when  it  opened.  A  voice  I  once  knew 
so  well,  but  had  thought  never  to  hear  again,  spoke  : 
"  May  I  come  in,  Dr.  Drew  ?  I  would  speak  to  you." 

I  turned  my  head.  There  stood  Susie,  and  behind 
her,  in  the  background,  appeared  the  familiar  face  of  old 
Cupe.  I  replaced  the  tube  in  the  rack  and  next  ex 
tended  my  trembling  hand  to  the  girl.  "  Susie,"  I  said, 
as  I  asked  her  to  be  seated,  "  this  is  unexpected." 

Unintentionally  I  glanced  at  the  clock ;  the  girl's  eyes 
followed  mine.  "It  is  late,  Professor  Drew.  I  felt 
that,  but  the  train  was  behind  time,  and  I  must  return 
early  to-morrow  morning."  She  spoke  reservedly. 

"  Please  be  seated,"  I  said,  for  she  had  not  yet  taken 
the  proffered  chair.  But  she  made  no  movement. 
Standing  before  me,  she  gazed  straight  into  my  eyes, 

343 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

and  by  that  glance  threw  back  into  my  life  the  wild  love 
of  other  days,  the  love  that  had  never  been  suppressed, 
but  which,  long  encysted  in  my  heart,  needed  but  the 
sight  of  its  creator  to  cause  it  to  burst  again  into  life. 

"  I  came  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Drew,"  she  replied,  u  to 
ask  a  question  —  yes,  to  beg  a  favour." 

"  If  in  my  power,  you  need  only  ask  it." 

A  smile  came  over  her  face,  a  smile  that  flitted  on  the 
instant.  "  You  have  my  thanks  in  advance  for  your 
good  will;  and  yet  I  have  not  named  the  favour." 

"Susie,"  I  impulsively  replied,  "  your  will  is  law  to 
me.  Tell  me  what  you  wish." 

u  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  visit  Stringtown  until 
after  the  next  session  of  our  quarterly  Court." 

I  stood  in  astonishment.     "  Why  do  you  ask  this  ?  " 

"Promise  me  not  to  come." 

"  But  I  have  legally  contracted  to  testify  before  the 
Court.  I  am  bound  to  appear." 

"  And  does  this  recently  made  duty  to  others  so  easily 
overcome  your  thrice-volunteered  pledge  to  me  ?  " 

"  My  reputation  demands  that  I  attend  that  Court  as 
an  expert  witness.  I  shall  advance  my  position  as  a 
professional  chemist  by  doing  so." 

"  It  is  but  a  little  favour  that  I  ask,  and  already  you 
have  promised  to  grant  it.  Do  you  value  more  your 
self-ambition  than  your  word  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  break  my  contract." 

"  A  friend  of  yours  bids  me  say  a  word  to  you  in  case 
I  fail,  a  friend  who  knows  of  my  visit  here." 

"  And  who  may  this  friend  be,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Judge  Elford.  c  Tell  Sammy  that  I  say  the  expert 
chemist  is  not  an  honour  to  science.  Tell  him  that  if 
he  values  his  reputation,  to  decline  to  take  an  expert's 
parr  in  this  or  any  otfc?r  c^se  wb;le  condition?  are  as 

344 


Susie  Pleads  for  Red-Head 

now  and  chemists  make  themselves  partisans  for  the  side 
that  pays  them.  Tell  him  that  I  say  keep  away  from 
Stringtown  during  the  coming  Court  session/ ' 

"  The  judge  has  spoken  too  late,  and  you  come  too 
late,  Susie.  I  am  powerless.  See  "  —  I  pointed  to  the 
apparatus  about  me  —  u  for  days  have  I  worked  on  this 
Stringtown  poison  case,  have  recorded  the  results,  am 
ready  to  testify  to  the  facts.  I  must  go  to  that  Court ; 
duty  calls  me."  .... 

"  And  so  by  means  of  these  glasses  you  have  estab 
lished  the  nature  of  events  that  once  occurred  in  String- 
town.  A  man  you  have  not  seen  for  years  has  died, 
and  you  propose  to  swear  concerning  the  cause  of  his 
death  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  may  I  ask,  do  the  sign-glasses  augur  good  to 
the  living,  or  is  the  omen  such  as  to  lead  you  to  String- 
town  to  swear  a  man  onto  the  gallows  ?  " 

"  Susie,  this  is  not  sign  lore,  this  is  science.  Long 
since  I  wiped  out  of  my  nature  those  superstitious  signs 
and  omens  of  which  you  speak,  but  which  have  now  no 
credence  with  me.  This  is  science,  I  say,  and  science 
speaks  unerringly  concerning  that  which  is ;  she  tells, 
too,  of  things  that  have  passed  and  predicts  those  yet  to 
come." 

"  But  you  did  not  answer  my  question.  Do  the 
glasses  say  that  Mr.  Nordman  died  of  poison  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  beg  you  to  keep  the  fact  to  yourself. 
I  should  not  tell  you  this." 

The  girl  dropped  on  her  knees.  "  No  !  I  say  no  !  he 
was  not  poisoned  !  "  All  her  composure,  her  irony,  her 
sarcastic  tone  of  voice,  vanished.  She  wrung  her  hands, 
and  kneeling  thus  appeared  for  the  first  time  a  pleading 
woman,  with  the  heart  emotions  of  a  woman.  "  No, 

345 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

Mr.  Drew,  I  say  it  was  not  poison,  even  if  your  science 
swears  it !  " 

"  Compose  yourself,  Susie." 

"  You  are  the  only  man  I  fear ;  no  other  chemist 
can  come  to  Stringtown  County  and  impress  a  jury  of 
our  people  as  your  words  will  do,  or  antagonise  them  as 
they  may  do.  Say  that  you  will  not  come  !  grant  me 
this  favour  !  " 

"  I  cannot." 

She  drew  from  her  bosom  a  folded  paper  and  took 
from  it  a  pressed  and  dried  blue  flower.  "  When  we 
stood  in  the  path  near  my  home  in  old  Kentucky  the  day 
we  last  met,  you  gave  me  this  flower,  and  of  your  own 
accord  told  me  that  if  ever  I  wished  a  favour  and  pre 
sented  this  flower  the  favour  should  be  granted.  '  What 
ever  it  may  be  and  wherever  I  shall  be,'  you  said,  '  you 
have  but  to  ask.'  I  bring  you  now  the  flower,  and  on 
my  knees  I  beg  you  to  fulfil  the  promise  made  the  girl 
long  before  you  contracted  with  Mr.  Putten  to  read  for 
him  the  signs  in  the  glasses.  Is  not  the  word  given  to 
me  in  the  years  that  have  passed  as  sacred  as  the  legal 
contract  you  made  but  a  few  days  ago  ?  I  ask  you  to 
drop  this  Case,  to  come  not  to  Stringtown  during  the 
next  term  of  Court.  Believe  in  me,  Mr.  Drew  ;  accept 
my  pleadings  before  you  do  the  signs  and  omens  that 
you  read  in  these  tubes  and  vessels.  I  am  alive,  I  have 
breath,  consciousness  and  love.  Those  vessels  are  dead, 
insensible.  Will  you  not  take  my  word  before  that  of 
lifeless  objects,  which  I,  who  live  and  reason,  say  have 
not  told  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  cannot.  Ask  anything  else  but  this.  See,  that 
blue-violet  colouration  of  strychnine."  I  held  the  vessel 
and  applied  the  test  before  her  eyes. 

Dropping  the  withered  flower  on  the  floor,  she  arose 
346 


Susie  Pleads  for  Red-Head 

and  placed  her  foot  upon  it.  "  And  this  you  call  duty, 
this  breaking  of  a  sacred  promise  given  to  one  who 
treasured  your  words  and  had  no  hope  for  happiness 
beyond  the  bare  words  you  then  spoke,  and  those  other 
unframed  words  you  wished  to  utter  and  which  I  longed 
to  hear  you  say.  You  now  speak  of  duty,  but  this  man 
ner  of  duty  that  you  are  acting  I  call  murder,  for  your 
words  will  hang  an  innocent  man  !  " 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak,  Susie  ?  whom  am  I  to 
hang  by  my  evidence?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

u  Red-Head.  He  is  charged  with  poisoning  Mr. 
Nordman,  and  lies  now  in  the  jail  of  Stringtown 
County." 

Suddenly  there  came  into  my  heart  a  sensation  akin 
to  exultation.  Red-Head,  my  antagonist  of  former 
times,  my  rival  yet,  charged  with  murder,  and  the  evi 
dence  resting  in  my  hands  to  convict  him.  Once  I  had 
a  doubt  concerning  the  reaction  for  strychnine ;  I  came 
this  very  evening  in  a  questioning  mood,  for  some  things 
concerning  the  colour  were  not  quite  clear;  but  there 
was  no  doubt  now. 

"  Susie,"  I  said,  and  I  spoke  with  deliberation,  "  do 
you  remember  the  evening  Red-Head  held  my  hands 
together  and  sneered  in  my  face,  the  evening  in  your 
home  when  I  told  him  that  never  again  would  I  fight 
him  after  the  manner  brutes  fight  ?  Do  you  recollect 
that  I  said  the  time  would  come  when  I  could  use  my 
brain  instead  of  my  fists,  and  predicted  that  brain  would 
win  ?  Do  you  recollect  that  ?  " 

The  girl  no  longer  shrank  from  me,  she  no  longer 
stood  in  supplication,  but  with  erect  head  and  flashing 
eye  she  answered  :  u  And  this  you  call  the  triumph  of 

347 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

brain  over  muscle  ?  The  unsophisticated  country  boy 
who  lies  in  the  jail  of  Stringtown  County's  seat  is  to  be 
hung  by  you,  the  professor  of  chemistry  in  this  great 
University  !  The  prisoner  is  defenceless,  and  yet  he  is 
as  innocent  as  he  is  defenceless.  When  the  noose 
tightens  about  his  throat  your  position  as  a  chemist  will 
be  established,  you  say.  God  help  you,  man  of  science, 
you  who  permit  ambition  to  trample  down  your  love  for 
woman,  to  crush  your  humanity  to  man,  to  break  the 
sacred  pledge  given  in  confidence  to  one  who  trusted 
you  !  " 

"  Susie,  as  sure  as  the  sun  ever  shone  I  found  strych 
nine  in  that  specimen.  As  God  lives,  I  swear  it. " 

"  But  if  Red-Head  dies  a  criminal  and  afterward  it 
should  be  proven  that  there  was  no  strychnine  in  your 
glasses?" 

"  That  day  or  night  —  yes,  that  very  hour,  I  will  pay 
the  penalty  with  my  own  life.  I  know  how  to  mix 
potions  that  leave  no  mark  and  yet  do  their  work 
promptly.  If  this  be  not  strychnine  my  life  goes  out." 

She  turned  to  the  negro,  seemingly  without  having 
heard  my  fearful  pledge.  "Bring  the  money,  Cupe; 
other  inducements  than  the  pleadings  of  a  lone  girl  must 
be  made,  to  affect  a  man  bound  to  science." 

The  negro  came  forward,  bearing  a  valise,  from  which 
he  took  a  heavy  box ;  this  he  placed  on  the  table  near 
me.  "  Ma'se  Sammy,  et  am  de  gol'  out  ob  de  ole  chist 
in  de  grabeya'd.  De  false  bott'm  what  de  little  key 
op'n'd  cubbahed  what  de  sheriff  could  n't  fin'." 

He  opened  the  box;  it  was  filled  with  gold  coin; 
never  had  I  seen  so  much  gold,  never  before  had  such 
wealth  been  within  my  grasp. 

"Take  it  all,  Mr.  Drew,  and  spare  Red-Head.  I  ask 
you  to  fulfill  the  promise  made  me  years  ago,  and  I 

348 


Susie  Pleads  for  Red-Head 

bring  you  here  a  fee  that  will  exceed  many  times  that 
paid  by  the  prosecutor  of  Stringtown  County.  By  right 
of  priority,  by  right  of  a  sacred  promise,  by  the  profes 
sional  touch  of  gold,  I  ask  that  you  serve  me  and  not 
the  Commonwealth." 

"  You  humiliate  me,  Susie.  I  cannot  sell  myself,  you 
know  it." 

u  Take  it  all,  and  keep  away  from  our  Court.  Let 
the  boy  live." 

u  I  shall  go  to  the  Court  of  Stringtown  County  and 
testify  to  the  truth."  My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her 
face,  my  voice  was  firm  and  determined.  She  saw  that 
no  hope  remained. 

"You  will  regret  this  decision,  but  I  now  say  never 
shall  your  evidence  hang  Red-Head." 

"  But  if  he  is  proven  guilty  ?  " 

"  He  must  not  hang.  Now  I  shall  seek  the  man  who 
will  listen  to  the  appeal  of  justice,  who  can  stand  between 
this  uncultured  country  boy  and  the  scaffold.  I  came 
to  you  of  my  own  will,  not  by  the  counsel  or  consent 
of  Red-Head.  He  defies  both  you  and  your  art;  he 
said  to  me :  '  Go  to  the  mountains  of  Eastern  Kentucky, 
take  this  letter '  "  (she  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket) 
u  c  find  the  man  addressed  and  say  to  him  that  Read- 
Head  lies  in  the  jail  of  Stringtown  County,  charged  with 
murder  that  he  did  not  do.' " 

I  reached  out  my  hand ;  she  did  not  put  the  letter  into 
it,  but  held  it  before  my  eyes  so  that  I  could  read  the 
superscription  : 

OLD  MAN  HOLCOMB, 
BALD  KNOB,   KENTUCKY. 

She  turned  to  depart,  preceded  by  Cupe,  who  bore  the 
heavy  package  of  gold ;  but  before  she  closed  the  door  I 

349 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

spoke  again  :  "  Susie,  the  night  is  dark.  Let  us  forget 
that  we  have  had  this  difference.  May  I  not  go  with 
you,  Susie  ? " 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  any  living  person.  Of  the  dead 
there  is  no  danger."  Then  she  spoke  again  one  last  word 
of  appeal.  "  Mr.  Drew,  as  you  value  human  life  • — 
and  more  lives  than  one  must  go  if  Red-Head  dies  - —  I 
beg  you  not  to  come  to  the  next  Court  session  of 
Stringtown  County." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  On  your  own  account  I  plead  with  you,  do  not  run 
this  great  risk.  Grant  me  this  little  favour." 

Again  I  refused,  and  the  next  moment,  alone  with  my 
thoughts  and  with  my  science  provings,  my  beaker 
glasses,  test  tubes  and  reagents,  I  stood  questioning  the 
future. 


350 


CHAPTER   LVIII 

"POW'FUL    INTERESTIN*    STORY "    (l    JOHN,    III) 

THE  mountains  of  Eastern   Kentucky,  their  stores 
of  endless  wealth,  of  mine,  of  quarry,  and  of 
wood,  their  picturesque  knobs  and   rocks,   valleys,  tor 
rents,  brooks  and  solitudes,  must  one  and  all  be  seen  to 
be  appreciated. 

There  are  taller  mountain  chains  than  these,  and 
larger  ones,  too ;  grander  canons  are  to  be  seen  in  the 
Yellowstone  and  along  the  Colorado,  and  in  the  Rockies 
rise  higher  bluffs  of  black  and  red  stone.  No  lava  beds 
in  these  Kentucky  mountains  speak  of  volcanic  action, 
no  volcanic  peaks  cone  the  sky.  The  Laurentian  chain 
of  Canada  bears  endless  tear-bound  firs,  these  do  not ; 
there  is  no  other  Tacoma  than  the  one  which  in  Wash 
ington  State  glitters  in  the  sunlight  and  commands 
homage  from  both  the  ocean  of  waters  on  the  west  and 
the  ocean  of  sand  on  the  east.  And  yet  while  bluff  and 
ice  and  snow  and  fire  and  lava  are  not  in  the  Kentucky 
Mountains  as  they  are  elsewhere,  charms  there  are  which 
no  other  chains  possess. 

The  girl  who  pleaded  with  the  University  professor 
for  the  life  of  Red-Head  was  now  traversing  these  moun 
tain  wilds  on  the  back  of  a  mule.  Faithful  Cupe  trudged 
on  foot  by  her  side.  For  some  days  they  had  been 
beyond  the  track  even  of  mountain  wagon  wheels.  The 
bluffs  were  either  overhanging  above  or  precipitous  below, 
but  always  present.  The  streams  were  often  bank-full, 
so  that  in  order  to  progress  long  circuits  were  necessary  j 

351 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

but  still  she  kept  on  her  way,  preceded  by  a  young  man, 
who  spoke  but  little  and  seemed  concerned  only  in  reach 
ing  his  destination.  At  last  they  neared  a  deserted  cabin, 
windowless  and  roofless.  The  chimney  had  fallen,  the 
logs  were  decayed  and  the  mud  chinking  between  them 
had  disappeared.  A  brook  ran  in  the  gulch  near  it, 
while  behind  stretched  a  rock-clad  hog-back  hill  that 
separated  this  brook  from  the  stream  beyond.  Hitching 
their  horse  in  the  ravine  where  ran  the  trail,  the  young 
mountaineer  tramped  a  path  to  the  site  of  the  old  cabin, 
the  girl  following. 

"  Here  's  the  place,"  he  said,  "  but  et  ain't  no  great 
shakes." 

The  girl  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  scene  of  deso 
lation,  and  as  she  did  so  her  mind  reverted  to  the  String- 
town  schoolhouse  and  to  the  story  of  the  feud  related  by 
the  Red-Headed  Boy.  The  door  was  gone  but  frag 
ments  of  the  casing  still  hung  by  two  beaten  iron  nails, 
and  the  rests  for  the  iron  bar  that  once  held  the  door 
were  yet  in  place  in  the  logs  beside  the  doorway.  She 
seated  herself  on  the  heavy  timber  sill.  Her  eyes  fell 
to  the  projecting  log  by  her  side.  A  dark  blue  piece  of 
metal,  partly  coated  with  a  white  crust,  was  imbedded  in 
the  end  of  it,  a  piece  of  metal  from  which  the  wood  had 
partly  rotted  away.  With  her  fingers  she  scraped  the 
soft  wood  mould  from  about  it,  and  then  raised  from  its 
resting-place  a  flattened  weather-corroded  minie  bullet, 
around  which  still  were  to  be  seen  the  creases  that  once 
held  the  cartridge  shell  in  place.  A  shudder  came  over 
her ;  she  dropped  the  fragment  into  her  pocket  and  raised 
her  eyes ;  there  in  the  trail  below  them,  the  muzzle  of  a 
long  gun  in  his  hand,  stood  a  grizzled  old  man  looking 
intently  at  that  picturesque  scene  —  the  beautiful  girl 
seemingly  so  out  of  place  in  the  doorway  of  those  ruins. 

352 


"Pow'ful  Interestin'  Story" 

At  this  instant   the    young    man    caught    sight   of  the 
intruder. 

«  Thet  's  him." 

"Who?" 

"  Old  Holcomb." 

The  girl  arose  and  started  back  along  the  trail,  this 
time  preceding  her  companion,  back  toward  the  tall  man. 
His  form  was  lank  and  uncouth,  his  hair  thin  and  white, 
his  face  covered  with  a  crop  of  beard  that  had  been 
roughly  trimmed  with  the  scissors.  He  did  not  speak, 
nor  did  the  girl  until  she  stood  close  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Holcomb  ?  " 

"  I  'm  Holcomb." 

"  I  came  to  bring  you  a  message." 

"  From  who  ?  " 

"An  enemy." 

"  I  hain't  but  one,  an'  he  's  a  coward." 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed,  her  fists  clenched  hard  together, 
the  bullet  in  her  pocket  burned  the  flesh  it  pressed  against. 
She  took  it  out  and  held  the  disfigured  mass  of  lead 
before  his  face. 

"  He  was  n't  coward  enough  to  shoot  an  ounce  of 
lead  through  a  four-year-old  child." 

Not  a  movement  did  the  man  make.  His  eye  pierced 
her  through,  but  she  did  not  flinch.  "  An'  who  be  yo' 
ter  tell  Holcomb  this ;  'dy  want  ter  wedge  inter  the 
feud  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  who  I  am.  I  know  who  you  are  and 
what  you  did.  But  I  did  not  seek  you  to  talk  over  these 
things.  I  came  to  deliver  a  message."  She  took  from 
her  pocket  the  letter  she  had  already  shown  to  Professor 
Drew,  and  held  it  out. 

Taking  it,  but  without  opening  it,  the  man  asked : 
"  An*  hev  yo'  come  fur  ?  " 
23  353 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

•c  From  Stringtown." 

"  Yo'  can't  git  back  tcr  Hawley's  claim  ter-night,  an' 
thct  's  the  nearest  stoppin'-place.  Yoah  shoes  air  thin 
an*  70'  air  shiverin'  like  a  young  lamb  in  sleety  weather. 
Yo'  wants  ter  be  warmed  up  an'  fed  up,  an'  yo  'd  better 
go  crost  the  divide  ter  my  cabin,  an'  we  '11  settle  the 
other  matter  thar.  Yo  '11  hev  ter  stay  all  night  ha'ar- 
'bouts." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  a  kindly  tone,  and  the 
girl  realised  that  he  told  the  truth  ;  but  she  knew,  too, 
that  excitement,  not  cold,  was  responsible  for  her  shiver 
ing.  Mounting  their  horses,  the  two  travellers  followed 
the  old  man  to  his  home. 

In  the  common  room  of  that  cabin,  while  she  sat  close 
to  the  fire,  he  held  the  letter  long  in  his  hands,  turning 
it  about  and  eyeing  it  curiously.  "  Guess  yo  '11  hev  ter 
read  et  ter  me,"  he  said ;  then  tore  it  open  and  handed 
it  to  the  girl,  who  complied,  reading  as  follows : 

HOLCOMB  :  I  'm  Red-Head.  I  did  n't  come  back  ter  the 
moun'ns  ter  finish  the  feud  'cause  I  promised  Susie  not  ter  fight 
lessen  she  married  Drew.  Then  I  'tended  ter  whip  Drew  first 
an'  shoot  yo'  next.  But  I  can't  do  either,  fo'  I'm  in  jail. 
Drew  's  got  the  pull,  too,  an'  lessen  I  git  help  he  '11  hang  me 
fo'  killin'  a  man  I  didn't  kill.  I'm  not  a  pizoner,  an'  yo' 
know  et.  I  'm  not  a  coward,  an'  yo'  know  et.  What  I  wants 
is  fo'  yo'  ter  come  ter  Stringtown  an'  keep  me  from  bein'  hung. 
You  ain't  much  ov  a  friend,  but  yo've  got  grit  an'  got  sense 
an'  kin  shoot,  an'  thet's  the  kind  ov  a  friend  I  needs  now. 
Yo'  know  et  'ud  disgrace  the  family  yo'  fought  fer,  an'  the 
family  you  fought,  fer  me  ter  be  hung,  an'  I  mussent  be  hung. 
Ef  yo'll  come,  tell  Susie,  'n  she'll  tell  me.  Come  ter  the 
Stringtown  County  Court  an*  stop  the  hangin'  an'  end  the 
feud.  RED-HEAD. 

Wke*  the  girl  ceased  reading  Holcomb  took  the  letter 
354 


"Pow'ful  Interestin'  Story" 

and  scrutinised  it  again.  Evidently  his  thoughts  were 
not  altogether  in  the  present,  for  after  a  period  of  silence 
he  musingly  remarked : 

"  kf  he  's  like  his  kin,  et 's  the  truth  he  told  when  he 
said  thet  he  's  not  a  coward.  Them  war  a  brave  family, 
an'  grit,  else  thar 'd  been  mo'ah 'n  one  Holcomb  livin'." 

Turning  to  the  girl,  he  said  abruptly  :  u  I  've  sot  in 
this  old  cabin  nigh  onter  twenty  years  waitin'  fer  Red- 
Head.  I  've  watched  the  trail  in  winter  an'  laid  in  the 
shade  in  summer  fightin'  sketers  an'  flies  an'  keepin'  my 
eyes  on  the  path  ter  git  the  drop  on  him  befo'  he  seed 
me.  But  he  didn't  come.  Then  I  thunk  thet  he'd 
turned  coward,  but  no  moun'n  Nordman  ever  showed 
the  white  feather ;  'n  he  said  too  when  he  left :  *  Tell 
Holcomb  I  '11  be  back  when  I  kin  handle  a  Springfield 
gun.'  An'  when  I  seed  yo'  two  a-ridin'  up  the  gulch 
I  felt  monstrous  good,  fer  I  thought  p'raps  he  'd  come 
back,  but  without  his  moun'n  manners,  fer  no  moun'n 
man  in  a  feud  would  hev  rid  in  the  open  like  yo'  did. 
An'  I  saw  yo'  tramp  up  ter  the  old  cabin  an'  sot  down 
an'  pick  the  bullet  out  ov  the  log.  Then  yo'  saw  me, 
fer  I  seed  thet  black-ha'red  feller  war  not  Red-Head, 
an'  stepped  inter  sight." 

The  girl  shuddered,  and  the  speaker  said  :  "  Sit  closer 
ter  the  fire,  little  one ;  I  'm  pow'ful  sorry  fer  sech 
squeemish  buds  es  yo'  be."  Then  he  asked :  u  Red- 
Head  's  in  jail  the  writin'  sez  ?  " 

"Yes." 

«  Fer  killin'  a  man  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  War  et  on  the  square  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  kill  him.  Mr.  Nordman  died  suddenly, 
and  Red-Head  was  charged  with  giving  him  poison." 

Hotcornb  sat  in  silence  a  time,  and  then  spoke  in 
355 


Stringtovvn  on  the  Pike 

reverie  :  "  An'  he  axes  help  from  Holcomb,  me  who 
wanted  to  shoot  him  befo'  1  died,  me  who  killed  his 
father  an'  his  mother  an'  his  little  sister,  me  who  hev 
lived  alone  in  this  cabin  fer  twenty  years  beca'se  his  gun 
an'  the  guns  ov  his  kin  hed  killed  every  other  Holcomb 
but  me.  Et  's  a  shame  thet  sech  a  family  es  his'n  an' 
sech  a  family  es  our'n  should  be  disgraced  by  the  puttin' 
ov  one  ov  'em  in  jail  fer  pizonin'.  I  hates  Red-Head 
beca'se  of  the  feud,  an'  I  wants  ter  shoot  him  pow'ful 
much,  but  ef  he  gits  hung  we  can't  fight  et  out."  Turn 
ing  to  the  girl  again,  he  asked  :  u  Are  yo'  sure  thet  he 
did  n't  pizon  the  man  ?  " 

u  I  know  he  did  not.  He  swore  to  me  on  his  bended 
knees  that  he  did  not,  and  — he  loves  me." 

"  An'  yo'  loves  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  friend." 

u  Chick  "  —  and  the  old  man  reached  out  his  lank 
hand  and  gently  stroked  her  hair — "chick,  Holcomb 
is  awful  sorry  fer  you-uns,  fer  Holcomb  es  bound  ter 
kill  thet  boy."  Then  he  mused  again.  "  Child,  ef 
Holcomb  '11  swar'  off  the  feud,  an  '11  go  ter  Stringtown 
an*  save  Red-Head,  will  yo'  marry  Red-Head  an'  move 
ter  the  moun'ns  ?  " 

The  girl  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 

u  An'  ef  Holcomb  '11  make  over  his  property  ter 
Red-Head  an*  yo',  will  yo'  name  the  first  boy  baby 
Holcomb  ?  " 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but  sobbed  quietly. 

u  Thar  ain't  no  use  in  sayin'  nuthin'  mo'ah;  you-uns 
understands  we-uns,  an'  yo'  may  go  back  ter  Stringtown 
an'  say  ter  Red-Head  these  words  :  c  Old  Holcomb  says, 
says  he,  thet  he  '11  be  on  hand  when  the  day  comes  fer 
business,  an'  that  he'll  save  the  honour  ov  the  two  families 
one  way  er  nuther.'  Now  stop  yer  cryin',  little  one,  fer 

356 


"Pow'ful  Interestin'  Story" 

thar  ain't  no  danger  ov  the  shame  ov  hangin'  come'n 
ter  Red-Head." 

When  u  early  candle-light  "  appeared,  which  was  the 
time  for  retiring,  Holcomb  brought  an  antiquated  book 
from  out  the  cupboard,  a  copy  of  a  Bible  that  had 
once  been  much  used.  "  Et  have  been  many  a  day 
sense  a  woman  sot  in  this  cabin.  Thet  's  the  Bible 
ov  my  gran'mam,  whose  great  gran' mam  brought  et 
from  Inglan'.  After  she  died  et  war  read  by  my  wife 
every  night,  an'  war  being  read  by  her  that  night  when 
Red-Head's  dad  shot  through  the  winder  'n  killed  our 
boy,  who  wah  pow'ful  religious,  too."  He  turned  the 
leaves  of  the  book,  evidently  seeking  a  certain  chapter, 
but  as  he  could  not  read,  Susie  wondered  how  he  ex 
pected  to  locate  it.  Suddenly  he  stopped.  "  Thet 's 
the  place  now/'  A  great  brown  blot  of  irregular 
shape  was  splotched  over  one  of  the  yellowed  sheets. 
u  Thet 's  the  blood  ov  the  boy.  Mam  never  finished 
the  chapter,  she  could  n't  b'ar  ter  look  at  the  place  ag'in. 
I  've  wanted  ter  hev  et  read  out  fer  twenty  years,  fer 
et 's  a  pow'ful  interestin'  story.  Ef  yo'  '11  jest  read  the 
chapter  out  we  '11  hev  prayers,  an'  then  yo'  kin  go  ter 
bed  in  the  nex'  room."  And  when  Susie  had  finished 
reading  the  "  pow'ful  interestin'  story  "  ( I  John,  iii.) 
Holcomb  said :  u  Them  's  my  sentiments  too,"  then 
kneeled  and  offered  up  prayers  in  a  homely  way  that 
spoke  of  his  earnestness  and  faith  in  the  teachings  of 
his  parents.  "Now,  chick,"  said  Holcomb,  uyo''ll 
sleep  in  the  nex'  room,  'n  this  young  feller  'n  me  '11 
sleep  in  this  'n.  The  nigger  kin  go  ter  the  outside 
cabin." 

"  Ef  yo'  please,  sah,  Mr.  Holcom',  de  nigger  '11  jes  lie 
down  befo'  de  doah  ob  de  room  de  chile  sleeps  in.  He 
doan  'tend  ter  run  no  risk  ob  cotchin'  cole  in  de  wood- 

357 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

shed,  an*  he  doan  'tend  ter  hab  de  chile  in  one  house  an 
Cupe  be  in  de  uddah.  Ef  de  Susie  gearl  speaks  in  de 
night,  Cupe  '11  be  in  his  place  befo'  de  doah." 

Next  morning  the  three  persons,  old  Holcomb  in 
front,  returned  along  the  mountain  trail.  All  day  long, 
with  his  heavy  rifle  over  his  shoulder,  the  old  man  con 
tinued  in  the  advance;  finally,  near  sundown,  he  relin 
quished  his  charge  to  a  man  who  stood  before  a  double 
cabin  near  the  road,  and  who  in  some  manner  had  been 
advised  of  their  approach  and  was  expecting  them. 
"  Yo  '11  stop  fer  the  night  ha'ar,  an'  in  the  mornin'  he  '11 
see  yo'  ter  the  next  stop.  Thar  ain't  no  danger  ter  yo' 
in  these  moun'ns  now,  fer  Holcomb  hev  passed  the  word 
'long  thet  yo  're  his  friend  an'  air  ter  be  shown  ter  the 
stage  line.  Et  's  sure  death  ter  the  feller  what  troubles 
yo'." 

Taking  the  hand  of  the  girl  in  his  rough  palm,  the  old 
man  again  stroked  her  hair  with  the  other,  as  he  had  done 
in  the  cabin,  gently,  tenderly ;  then  in  a  low  tone,  very 
low,  said  :  "  An'  yo  '11  name  the  first  boy  Holcomb, 
won't  yo',  jest  fer  the  honour  ov  the  two  families,  an'  fer 
the  sake  ov  the  old  man  who  hain't  no  kin  left  ter  leave 
his  name  to  ?  "  Then  without  waiting  a  reply,  he  added  : 
"  Tell  Red-Head  ter  rest  easy,  fer  Holcomb  '11  be  on 
hand  an'  stop  the  hangin'  sure ;  ef  thar  ain't  one  way 
ter  do  et,  thar  air  another  ;  thar '11  not  be  no  disgrace  of 
hanging  on  yo-uns  an*  we-uns,  child."  He  turned  and 
left  the  party  in  the  hands  of  their  new  protector,  and  in 
the  dusk  of  evening  passed  from  sight  up  the  gorge  that 
led  back  into  the  higher  mountains. 


358 


CHAPTER   LIX 

"MORE    LIVES    THAN    ONE    MUST    GO    IF    RED-HEAD 
DIES  " 

THE  day  arrived  for  me,  the  chemist  of  the  Univer 
sity,  to  return  to  Stringtown  on  my  professional 
errand,  and  I  decided  to  start  the  week  previous  to  the 
convening  of  the  quarterly  Court.  Carefully  collecting 
the  reagents,  apparatus  and  the  specimens  of  the  contents 
of  the  suspected  stomach,  I  next  fortified  myself  with  my 
books  of  authority.  These  were  packed  in  a  specially 
arranged  valise,  which,  I  may  add,  I  did  not  this  time 
lug  across  the  Suspension  Bridge  which  stretched  be* 
tween  Cincinnati  and  Covington. 

Sleepy  old  Stringtown  was  reached  at  last,  and  there 
at  the  door  of  our  old  home  stood  my  mother.  She  was 
feeble  now  —  I  caught  that  fact  from  afar  —  her  hair, 
too,  was  very  white.  I  shall  say  nothing  regarding  our 
meeting,  which  concerns  ourselves  alone.  That  even 
ing  I  walked  down  the  narrow  sidewalk  toward  the 
grocery  store  of  Mr.  Cumback,  meeting  a  few  old 
friends  on  the  way  and  several  strangers.  I  opened  the 
door  of  the  grocery,  the  door  against  the  glass  of  which 
years  before  I  had  seen  the  white  face  of  a  rebel  soldier 
press ;  that  very  pane  of  glass  was  in  place,  for  I  recog 
nised  it  by  a  well-known  blemish  across  its  centre.  A 
circle  of  men  sat  around  the  old  stove,  and  Mr.  Cum 
back  stood  behind  the  counter.  Most  of  the  members 
were  new  to  me,  although  three  of  the  old-time  partici- 

359 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

pants  were  present.  But  how  changed  !  Judge  Elford 
was  grand  in  his  venerable,  patriarchal  appearance,  very 
feeble  but  his  intellectuality  had  not  diminished ;  white 
was  every  thread  of  his  beard  and  of  his  flowing  hair. 
He  arose  as  I  entered  and  grasped  my  hand  ;  his  eye 
pierced  me  through,  but  very  kindly  was  that  eye- 
greeting.  u  Welcome  back  to  Stringtown,  Sammy,"  he 
said;  "these  years  we  have  been  expecting  you  on  old 
friendship's  account,  but  now  that  you  come  on  profes 
sional  business  we  are  not  less  delighted  to  greet  you. 
You  honour  us,  my  boy.  We  have  kept  watch  of 
your  upward  course,  and  hope  that  you  will  never  forget 
that  your  land  is  Kentucky,  that  you  were  once  a 
Stringtown  boy,  and  that  here  you  have  many  friends." 
Then  Professor  Drake  took  his  turn,  giving  my  hand  a 
gentle  grasp.  "  Sorry  you  did  not  come  last  night,  Mr. 
Drew,  for  I  read  a  paper  on  evolution  and  talked  about 
that  very  interesting  subject.  You  could  have  given  us 
much  information  concerning  it.  Don't  fail  to  help 
your  old  friends  by  a  good  word,  Samuel,  whenever 
occasion  permits  it." 


360 


CHAPTER  LX 

TROUBLE    IN    STRINGTOWN    COUNTY    COURT 

JUDGE  ELFORD  arose,  and  locking  his  arm  in 
mine  moved  toward  the  door,  as  he  did  so  excusing 
both  of  us  to  the  circle.  u  Mr.  Drew  will  return  an 
other  evening,"  he  remarked.  "  I  would  speak  to  him 
in  the  quiet  of  my  home  to-night."  Something  in  the 
tone  of  his  voice  led  me  to  know  that  he  wished  to  talk 
seriously  in  private,  and  as  if  to  impress  the  fact  more 
emphatically,  we  walked  in  silence  to  his  home. 

"  Did  you  notice  the  tall,  white-haired  man  who  left 
the  room  before  we  did  ?  "  he  abruptly  asked. 

«  Yes." 

"  That  man  has  been  in  Stringtown  for  a  week.  He 
stops  at  the  tavern,  but  has  no  business  here,  unless  it 
be  in  connection  with  this  case  in  which  you  are  con 
cerned.  He  has  been  asking  questions  of  all  kinds  re 
garding  Red-Head  and  yourself,  and  has  inquired  into 
every  detail  of  the  poisoning  affair.  He  has  interested 
himself  in  Red-Head's  record  since  he  came  among  us 
as  a  boy.  That  he  is  not  alone  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  many  uncouth  men  call  to  see  him,  but  they  soon 
depart.  The  rumour  has  gotten  out  that  he  is  a  friend 
of  Red-Head,  from  the  mountains,  and  that  a  scheme 
for  the  boy's  rescue  is  contemplated." 

"  And  how  am  I  concerned,  Judge  ?  " 

u  That  I  shall  now  tell  you,  Sammy.     Would  to  God 

361 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

you  had  kept  out  of  this  case !  You  were  asked  to  re* 
main  away  from  Stringtown  until  after  Court  week,  were 
you  not  ?  "  His  eyes  were  upon  me. 

«  Yes." 

u  And  the  messenger  told  you  that  such  was  also  my 
desire  and  advice  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  forget  that  twice  you  promised  to  follow 
my  advice  when  the  time  arrived  for  me  to  serve  you  by 
asking  you  to  grant  me  a  favour  ?  " 

1  made  no  reply. 

"  As  a  judge,  sworn  to  do  the  duty  of  a  judge  to  this 
great  Commonwealth  of  Kentucky,  I  could  not  well  do 
more.  As  a  friend  to  you,  I  could  not  do  less.  Why 
did  you  not  take  the  advice  of  your  two  friends  ?  "  Be 
fore  I  could  answer,  had  I  any  reply  to  make,  he  contin 
ued  :  "  Ugly  things  are  being  said  in  Stringtown.  The 
people  of  Stringtown  County,  too,  are  concerned  in  this 
case,  more  so  even  than  when  old  Cupe  was  tried  for 
stealing  the  gold.  There  are  factions  among  us,  and 
some  viciousness  begins  to  creep  out ;  not  that  Red-Head 
has  made  friends,  but  that  this  thing  of  sending  outside 
the  State  for  an  expert  to  testify  against  one  of  our  citi 
zens  is  an  innovation." 

"  But  why  do  they  accept  that  my  testimony  will 
be  against  him  ?  " 

4t  Because  you  are  engaged  by  the  prosecution,  and 
people  believe  that  chemical  experts  sell  their  evidence 
and  give  their  testimony  to  support  the  claims  of  the  side 
that  engages  them  ;  and,"  he  added,  u  it  also  seems  to 
me  that  expert  chemical  testimony  is  not  always  on  the 
highest  moral  plane." 

"  But  1  surely  found  strychnine,  Judge  ;  should  I  not 
give  my  evidence  ?  " 

362 


Trouble  in  Stringtown  Court 

"  It  is  now  too  late  to  retreat,  and  for  this  reason  I 
would  speak  to  you  in  confidence,  Sammy.  Your  father 
was  my  friend ;  you  need  advice,  as  I  once  felt  you 
might,  and  even  though  I  am  to  be  the  judge  of  this 
case,  I  am  in  duty  bound  to  give  it." 

"You  have  my  thanks  for  your  interest,  and  I  regret 
now  that  I  did  not  take  the  hint  you  sent  by  Susie." 

u  Had  I  not  believed  that  you  would  listen  to  her 
pleadings,  I  might  have  made  it  stronger,  but  it  is  now 
too  late.  Sammy,"  he  continued,  u  are  you  satisfied  con 
cerning  the  chemical  provings  you  have  made  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Is  it  not  probable,  or  at  least  possible,  that  you  place 
too  great  credence  in  statements  made  by  authorities  in 
whom  you  confide  ?  " 

"  No,  for  I  have  verified  the  reactions." 

"  May  not  conditions  unknown  to  you  induce  other 
bodies  than  strychnine  to  give  the  same  reactions  ?  " 

"  Positively  not." 

u  Are  you  "  —  he  hesitated  slightly  —  u  proof  against 
prejudice  that  on  the  one  hand  binds  you  to  blind  confi 
dence  in  scientific  methods,  and  on  the  other  hand  leads 
you  to  desire  to  help  the  side  that  secured  your  services  ?  " 

I  winced,  for  I  felt  the  thrust  even  through  the  kindly 
tone  of  the  judge. 

"  I  am  a  man  of  science,  and  free  from  prejudice." 

cc  The  faith  you  men  of  science  have  in  human  au 
thority,  and  the  sneers  you  cast  on  the  Supreme  Ruler, 
and  the  dogmatic  conclusions  of  men  who  search  in  fields 
your  science  is  too  feeble  to  invade,  seem  to  me  very 
near  man-worship  or  egotistical  fanaticism.  Sir"  — 
he  spoke  severely  now — "I  fail  to  see  the  difference 
between  your  blind  allegiance  to  ever-changing  science 
aiid  the  fanatical  faith  of  a  superstitious  slave  bound  to 

363 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

signs  and  omens,  which  result  from  the  empirical  obser 
vation  of  cycles  of  phenomena  ;  but  let  that  thought  pass 
and  turn  to  your  own  self.  Are  you  free  from  human 
error  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  this  case,  for  I  have  gone  over  the  reactions 
again  and  again." 

"  Enough,  Sammy,  enough ;  would  that  I,  too,  felt 
this  same  confidence  in  man's  infallibility  and  in  the  sci 
ence  that  holds  you  in  her  toils.  I  am  an  old  man,  my 
child,  and  have  met  many  dramatic  and  pathetic  experi 
ences.  I  have  seen  men  shot  in  the  heat  of  passion,  and 
have  sentenced  men  to  the  gallows  on  the  testimony  of 
witnesses  who  saw  the  plunge  of  the  knife  or  the  flash 
of  the  pistol  held  by  the  murderer.  But  never  yet  have 
I  been  forced  to  condemn  a  man  to  the  gallows  on  the 
evidence  of  a  person  who  was  in  another  State  at  the 
time  of  the  murder,  who  not  only  did  not  see  the"  crime 
committed,  but  who  knew  nothing  about  its  occurrence. 
And,  Sammy,  while  duty  to  the  Commonwealth  will  not 
permit  me  ever  to  shrink  from  doing  my  duty  to  man 
and  men,  in  all  earnestness  I  pray  God  to  strike  me  dead 
before  on  the  expert  testimony  of  Samuel  Drew  I  am 
forced  to  hang  this  boy.  Mark  well  your  words,  Sammy ; 
on  them  rests  a  human  life.  A  defenceless  man  to  whom 
life  is  sweet  lies  now  in  the  Stringtown  County  jail,  — • 
one  from  whom  no  man  has  the  right  unlawfully  to  take 
one  bright  day.  Mark  well,  too,  the  position  of  your  old 
friend,  the  judge,  who  begs  you  to  err  on  the  side  of  hu 
manity  rather  than  to  do  a  wrong  in  the  belief  that  sci 
ence  is  infallible.  Give  this  helpless  man  the  benefit  of 
every  doubt,  whether  it  humiliates  your  science,  disturbs 
your  dogmatism,  or  checks  your  ambition.  In  after 
years  you  will  find  that  you  have  made  no  mistake." 

I  arose  to  go,  arose  without  conceding  that  there  was 
364 


Trouble  in  Stringtown  Court 

a  chance  for  me  to  err  or  relent.  At  the  door  the  judge 
held  my  hand  long,  and  after  bidding  me  good-bye  said, 
in  the  most  earnest  tone  I  had  ever  known  him  to  use  : 
"  God  grant,  Samuel  Drew,  that  you  do  not  cause  me 
to  hang  an  innocent  man ;"  and  after  I  had  passed  from 
his  door  he  called  me  back.  "  Sammy,  there  will  be 
trouble  next  week ;  bear  up  bravely,  dare  to  do  right 
even  though  it  be  at  ambition's  expense.  Sammy,"  and 
his  voice  sank  very  low,  almost  to  a  whisper,  as  his  lips 
spoke  into  my  ear,  "  keep  what  I  say  in  confidence. 
The  old  man  you  saw  leave  the  grocery  is  named  Hoi- 
comb  ;  he  came  to  me  last  night  and  I  drew  up  his  will. 
He  left  all  his  possessions,  both  real  and  personal,  to 
Red-Head  and  Susie,  share  and  share  alike ;  but  said 
he,  c  In  case  Red-Head  dies  —  and  he  may  die  suddenly, 
but  will  never  be  hung  —  it  must  all  go  to  the  girl  Susie.' 
There  '11  be  trouble  in  Stringtown  County  Court  next 
week,  Sammy." 

I  attempted  to  withdraw  my  hand,  but  the  speaker 
firmly  held  it  and  continued : 

u  This  is  Kentucky,  not  Ohio  ;   Kentucky,  Sammy." 

From  the  door  of  Judge  Elford  I  turned  with  heavy 
heart  and  lagging  footstep  toward  the  home  of  my 
mother,  realising  now  that  the  coming  week  would  bring 
a  death  crisis  to  some  one  I  knew,  and  for  the  first  time 
I  appreciated  the  fact  that  I  was  not  a  mere  onlooker. 

These  closing  words  were  in  my  mind  when  I  raised 
my  eyes  from  the  ground  because  of  a  step  that  sounded 
on  the  stones  ahead  of  me.  A  tall  form  came  into  the 
moonlight,  passed  me  close  and  disappeared  behind  me. 
It  was  the  old  man  from  the  mountains. 


365 


CHAPTER   LX1 

SUSIE,    RED-HEAD,    AND    MYSELF    AGAIN 

THE  morning  of  the  trial  dawned,  and  I  entered  the 
special  bus  that  had  been  engaged  to  take  two 
attorneys,  the  judge,  a  few  close  friends  of  these  gentle 
men —  a  few  jurymen  among  them  —  and  myself  to 
Court.  It  was  the  way  that  I  had  passed  to  the  trial 
of  Cupe. 

1  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  as  we 
passed  through  the  village,  but  followed  Judge  Elford  to 
the  court-house,  where  I  felt  a  sensation  of  relief  as  I 
entered  the  portals  of  that  stone  building,  with  its  great 
round  pillars  in  front  and  its  iron-barred  jail  in  the  rear. 
I  then  held  my  final  audience  with  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  and  at  last  stepped  into  the  court-room  of 
Stringtown  County. 

The  judge  sat  in  his  place  exactly  as  he  did  when 
last  I  saw  him,  years  ago,  in  that  same  seat.  Time  had 
enfeebled  him  physically,  but  not  mentally,  for  that  fine 
intellectual  face  and  placid  brow  were  surely  the  more 
impressive  by  reason  of  the  lines  that  age  had  deepened, 
and  by  the  touch  of  brighter  silver  left  in  his  snow-white 
beard  and  hair. 

The  jury  was  in  its  place,  its  members  typical  of  the 
former  jury  before  which  in  this  very  room  I  had  been 
a  witness  ;  some  of  them  may  have  been  the  same  indi 
viduals.  Before  each  man  stood  that  ever-present  box 
of  sawdust,  and  from  the  movement  of  their  jaws  or  the 

366 


Susie,  Red-Head,  and  Myself 

pouched  cheek  it  could  be  seen  that  none  needed  to  be 
instructed  concerning  the  object  of  these  utensils.  I 
seated  myself  by  the  side  of  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
and  then  raised  my  eyes  to  the  chair  where  sat  the  man 
charged  with  murder,  the  very  place  and  apparently  the 
same  chair  in  which  Cupe  once  sat.  His  hair  was  red 
as  of  yore,  sorrel-red,  like  no  other  hair  I  had  ever  seen ; 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  my  face,  those  same  little  yellow 
eyes ;  his  red  ears  and  that  florid  face  covered  with 
freckles  were  before  me  again,  lanker  and  longer  was 
that  crimson  neck.  I  looked  him  square  in  the  eye, 
and  then  my  glance,  not  his,  fell  to  the  floor,  but  not 
before  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gentle  movement  of  the 
left  ear,  the  mocking  movement  familiar  in  other  years, 
and  I  knew  that  he  yet  defied  me. 

When  next  I  raised  my  eyes  they  caught  the  form  of 
the  sheriff,  who  with  a  brace  of  pistols  in  his  leather  belt 
stood  close  to  the  prisoner,  and  then  I  turned  to  the 
audience.  The  room  was  filled  with  men,  and  no  one 
needed  to  tell  me  they  were  from  both  near  and  far. 
I  recognised  many  Stringtown  men,  I  also  saw  many 
whom  I  felt  were  men  of  Stringtown  County,  and  there, 
too,  sat  the  tall  man  from  the  mountains  cf  Kentucky. 
In  full  view  of  the  prisoner,  neither  seemed  to  notice 
the  other.  He  was  flanked  on  either  side  by  a  line  of 
men  dressed  in  the  same  manner  as  himself;  indeed,  I 
should  say  that  he  formed  the  central  figure  of  a  group 
distinct  from  our  home  folks,  but  they  seemed  not  to 
know  each  other. 

And  then  my  eyes  turned  toward  the  front  row, 
scanning  each  face  until  they  rested  on  that  of  one  I 
had  not  thought  to  meet  again  in  the  Court  of  String- 
town  County.  There  sat  Susie,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
space.  My  heart  fluttered  and  I  wished  that  instead 

367 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

of  sitting  by  the  prosecutor  I  were  in  the  place  of  old 
negro  Cupe,  who  sat  by  her  side.  Then  came  a  mental 
inventory,  and  by  a  mind-flash  I  saw  that  we  three, 
Susie,  Red-Head  and  myself,  were  once  more  con 
fronting  one  another  and  our  fate  ;  and  I  saw  too,  that 
seemingly  we  had  drawn  into  the  turmoil  all  who  both 
loved  and  hated  us,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  though,  be  it 
superstition  or  not,  every  condition  necessary  to  a  tragic 
end  of  one  or  all  was  now  perfected.  I  knew  the  nature 
of  the  men  about,  I  knew  that  many  men  had  but  to 
put  their  hands  inside  the'r  coats  to  defend  their  honour 
or  their  friends,  and  I  realised,  too,  that  every  man 
present  knew  both  his  enemy  and  his  friend  ;  but  no 
evidence  of  this  fact  could  be  seen  in  face  or  action. 
Then  I  turned  again  to  Judge  Elford,  he  whom  every 
man  in  the  room  respected,  he  who  stood  now  before 
all  this  assemblage  sworn  to  sift  the  right  from  the 
wrong,  and  who  I  knew  —  for  he  had  told  me  so  — 
believed  that  before  this  case  closed  some  of  those 
present  would  have  seen  their  last  of  earth. 

The  case  opened  in  the  usual  way,  and  interest  soon 
centred  in  the  evidence  that  came  rapidly  before  the 
Court  and  jury.  The  prosecution  announced  that  it 
intended  to  prove  that  poison  was  the  cause  of  Mr. 
Nordman's  death  and  that  the  drug  had  been  purchased 
by  the  prisoner,  and  administered  by  him  to  the  victim. 
To  this  the  attorneys  for  the  defence  interposed  a  denial, 
feebly  it  seemed  to  me,  although  it  is  possible  that  being 
in  the  dark  concerning  the  nature  of  the  evidence  to  be 
offered,  they  could  not  in  opening  make  their  denial 
stronger.  As  the  trial  progressed  it  could  be  seen  that 
the  judge  proposed  to  confine  both  parties  to  a  strict 
statement  of  fact,  for  every  attempt  to  interject  side 
issues  or  to  go  into  personalities  was  skilfully  defeated 

368 


Susie,  Red-Head,  and  Myself 

by  his  rulings,  and  yet  the  day  passed  before  the  prose 
cutor  was  ready  to  call  me  as  a  witness.  Every  step 
was  tenaciously  combated  by  counsel  for  the  defence, 
who,  as  the  theory  of  the  prosecution  unfolded  itself, 
became  aggressively  violent  and  left  no  stone  unturned 
in  his  attempt  to  discredit  a  witness  or  cast  a  doubt  on 
the  evidence.  When  time  for  adjournment  came  that 
night,  the  prosecution  had  proven  : 

First.  That  Red-Head  and  Mr.  Nordman  had  quar 
relled  a  few  days  previously  to  his  death.  It  was 
shown  that,  out  of  patience  with  his  indolent  habits, 
Mr.  Nordman  had  that  day  scolded  him  for  not  work 
ing.  The  witness  who  testified  to  this  stripped  tobacco 
in  Mr.  Nordman's  barn  and  heard  every  word  of  the 
altercation,  and  also  heard  Red-Head  swear  that  he 
would  be  revenged. 

Second.  The  village  druggist  testified  that  he  sold 
Red-Head  one-eighth  ounce  of  strychnine.  His  book  of 
poison  sales  on  which  the  entry  had  been  made  and  dated 
was  produced  and  admitted  as  evidence.  The  prisoner 
had  stated  that  the  strychnine  was  for  Mr.  Nordman, 
who  desired  to  put  it  in  the  carcass  of  a  lamb  that  had 
been  killed  by  foxes,  which  latter  he  hoped  to  kill  when 
they  returned  to  feed,  the  coming  night. 

Third.  The  servants  testified  that  Mr.  Nordman 
arose  in  good  health  the  morning  of  his  death,  ate  a  light 
breakfast,  as  was  his  habit,  and  that  Red-Head  alone 
breakfasted  with  him.  Very  soon  thereafter  he  was 
stricken  with  a  severe  pain  in  the  stomach,  and  then 
they  gave  him  a  dose  of  laudanum  and  called  the 
physician. 

Fourth.    The   physician  testified  that  he  found    Mr. 

Nordman  in  great  pain,  muscular  convulsions  having  set 

in  and  paralysis  of  the  legs.     He  administered  an  emetic, 

24 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

to  which,  however,  the  patient  did  not  freely  respond. 
In  reply  to  a  direct  question  of  the  prosecutor,  the  wit 
ness  said  that  the  case  presented  all  the  symptoms  of 
strychnine  poisoning. 

This  closed  the  evidence  of  the  day,  and  I  was  in 
formed  by  the  prosecution  that  my  testimony  would  be 
taken  immediately  after  Court  convened  the  next 
morning. 


S70 


CHAPTER   LXII 

"  THE    FEUD    IS    OVER,    HOLCOMB  " 

THAT  night  I  awoke  often,  for  in  my  ears  rang 
again    and    again    the    words    of    Judge    Elford  - 
"  You  will   hang  the  prisoner,  Sammy." 

That  sentence  still  dominated  my  mind  when  Court 
convened  next  morning;  but  when  I  looked  at  the  pre 
siding  judge  no  evidence  of  emotion  on  his  part  could  be 
seen  ;  passive  and  composed  he  sat  looking  about  the 
room,  apparently  as  unconscious  of  personal  responsibility 
as  any  of  the  spectators.  I  seated  myself  by  the  side  of 
the  prosecutor  and  proceeded  to  arrange  my  specimens, 
reagents  and  the  apparatus.  The  eyes  of  all  in  the 
Court  were  now  concentrated  on  me,  even  to  that  of 
the  prisoner,  who,  scarce  ten  feet  distant,  sat  beside  the 
armed  sheriff.  Seemingly  absorbed  in  manipulative 
operations,  I  yet  noticed  every  movement  of  those  about 
me  ;  from  time  to  time  I  raised  my  eyes  only  to  catch 
the  fixed  gaze  of  whomsoever  they  rested  on,  whereso 
ever  they  turned  —  jurymen,  sheriff,  attorney  for  the 
prosecution  and  for  the  defence,  Holcomb  from  the 
mountains,  Cupe,  Red-Head  and  Susie,  all  —  all  I  say 
but  one,  Judge  Elford.  He  seemed  unconcerned  regard 
ing  either  my  presence  or  my  movements. 

That  he  awaited  my  convenience  I  knew,  and  that 
this  famous  case  had  drawn  itself  down  and  had  focussed 
itself  on  me  I  also  knew.  Amid  intense  stillness,  friend 
and  foe,  faction,  feudist,  judge,  prisoner  and  jury  were 

371 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

awaiting  my  voice.  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  jury  j  not 
a  mouth  was  in  motion,  firm  set  were  each  pair  of  jaws, 
never  before  had  such  a  thing  been  known  in  Kentucky. 
The  last  touch  was  given  the  vessels  before  me,  and  then 
I  whispered  to  the  attorney  by  whose  side  I  sat :  "  I  am 
ready,"  and  raised  my  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  judge, 
who,  catching  the  movement,  without  awaiting  voice  to 
bid  him  open  the  Court,  bade  me  arise.  A  strange  inno 
vation  did  he  then  make,  an  innovation  that  struck  me 
to  the  heart ;  for  instead  of  turning  me  over  to  the  clerk 
to  be  sworn,  as  had  been  done  with  all  other  witnesses, 
he  too  arose,  and  before  him  I  held  up  my  hand,  and 
from  him  came  in  deep,  measured  tones  the  question  of 
that  solemn  oath  :  "  Do  you  solemnly  swear  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

My  voice  startled  me.  If  any  man  who  reads  these 
lines  could  have  been  in  my  place,  he  too  would  have 
been  startled  by  that  first  word.  The  past,  with  its  pre 
sentiments  and  omens,  now  crystallising  into  form,  the 
midnight  pleadings  of  the  girl  I  loved,  the  solemn  advice 
of  Judge  Elford,  yet  were  in  my  ear.  The  ominous 
circle  before  me,  the  doubt  concerning  the  reception  of 
my  testimony,  and  lastly  the  pensive  face  of  Susie  to  my 
right  and  the  hateful  face  of  Red-Head  to  my  left  were 
enough  to  dispossess  one  more  experienced.  But  the 
sensation  that  followed  these  words  passed  and  in  the 
calm  that  followed  I  became  myself,  ready  to  protect  my 
reputation.  I  looked  at  Red-Head  ;  his  gaze  was  fixed 
on  me ;  our  eyes  met,  and  I  saw  in  them  the  full 
measure  of  hate  I  felt  in  my  own  heart ;  and  then  I 
said  to  myself:  "If  I  don't  hang  that  fellow  he  will 
shoot  me  dead  when  next  we  meet.  If  brain  does  not 
conquer  now,  it  will  be  muscles'  turn  next."  Point  by 

372 


"The  Feud  is  Over,  Holcomb" 

point  the  prosecution  drew  from  me  the  statement  that  I 
had  examined  the  suspected  liquid  for  all  known  poisons, 
both  inorganic  and  organic.  And  then  I  was  led  to  the 
reactions  of  strychnine  and  to  its  location  among  the 
poisons.  These  I  gave  in  detail,  the  particulars  of  which 
need  not  be  repeated,  and  finally  I  was  asked  : 

"  Did  you  get  those  reactions  from  the  substance 
tested  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

u  Have  you  specimens  of  the  substance  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  Can  you  show  the  jury  and  the  Court  the  group  test 
for  alkaloids  and  also  the  colour  of  reactions  of  strych 
nine  ?  " 

"I  can." 

"  I  ask,  then,  that  Professor  Drew  be  allowed  to  cor 
roborate  his  testimony  by  experiments  that  will  substanti 
ate  his  words ; "  and  on  this  point,  after  a  legal  battle 
with  the  attorneys  for  the  defence,  the  judge  ruled  in 
our  favour.  Then  I  made  the  tests  for  alkaloids  with 
the  group  reagents  showing  the  presence  of  alkaloids. 
Next  I  made  the  respective  colour  test  with  morphine 
which  did  not  respond  and  then  with  strychnine  which 
did,  each  juryman  craning  his  neck  close  about  me  in 
order  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  purple  or  blue-violet 
colour  that  sprang  into  existence  in  that  porcelain  dish, 
where  the  strychnine  test  was  applied,  to  fade  away  into 
green  and  red. 

"  That  is  the  reaction  of  strychnine,"  I  said,  and 
proved  it  by  means  of  a  crystal  of  pure  strychnine. 

Then  came  the  final  question  :  u  You  swear  that  you 
found  strychnine  in  the  contents  of  that  stomach  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

Opposing  counsel  now  viciously  assailed  me,  but  to 
373 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

no  avail,  for  I  brought  forth  my  authorities  and  showed 
that  this  test  was  accepted  by  chemists  of  the  world,  and 
that  Fowne,  Fresenius,  Turner,  all  considered  it  conclu 
sive,  and  at  last  triumphant,  I  was  dismissed. 

Judge  Elford  now  came  down  from  his  chair.  u  Re 
peat  the  tests  that  I  may  see  them  close,"  he  said.  He 
stood  over  me,  and  side  by  side,  both  with  strychnine 
and  the  suspected  substance,  I  gave  the  test  for  alkaloids 
and  also  the  colour  test  for  strychnine.  The  same  violet- 
blue  colour  came  with  both. 

u  Will  no  other  substance  produce  that  reaction  ?  " 

"  None." 

"  This  is  a  great  world ;  there  are  many  countries  in 
it  ;  do  none  of  the  thousands  of  forms  of  vegetation  in 
these  various  lands  act  as  does  this  substance  ?  "  He 
spoke  into  my  very  ear. 

"  Net  to  my  knowledge.      Science  says  no." 

"  The  servants  administered  a  dose  of  laudanum,  and 
jaudanum  contains  morphine.  Is  not  morphine  an 
alkaloid  ?  " 

u  Yes  ;  I  have  testified  to  the  fact  that  I  also  obtained 
the  colour  reaction  of  morphine,  but  that  alkaloid  will 
not  give  this  strychnine  reaction.  Morphine  is  present, 
so  is  strychnine." 

"  Have  you  tried  this  test  with  every  plant,  shrub, 
tree,  leaf,  root,  bark,  fruit,  that  grows  ?  >1 

«  No,  sir  !  " 

ct  Have  you  tried  it  with  all  that  grow  in  Stringtown 
County  ?  " 

"  No,  sir !  " 

"  Have  you  tried  it  with  all  that  grow  in  and  about 
Stringtown  village  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  !  " 

"  Have  you  applied  this  test  to  every  form  of  herb, 
374 


"The  Feud  is  Over,  Holcoinb" 

fruit,  vegetable,  grass,  leaf,  that  grows  on  the  farm  ot 
the  late  Mr.  Nordman  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  I  " 

"  Or  in  his  dooryard  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  I  " 

"  Can  you,  then,  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that  you  have 
not  tested  these  myriads  of  other  substances,  swear  that 
this  is  strychnine  ?  " 

u  On  the  strength  of  these  authorities  "  —  I  pointed 
to  my  books  —  u  and  on  my  investigations,  and  on  the 
fact  that  no  other  known  bodies  produce  the  same  reac 
tions,  I  can." 

u  You  revived  the  strychnine  crystals,  it  seems  "  — 
he  pointed  to  the  microscopic  slide. 

«  Yes,  sir  !  " 

"  Will  no  other  substance  produce  such  needle-like 
crystals  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  none  to  do  so  and  then  react  as  they  do." 

"  Would  it  not  have  been  well  to  get  from  the  con 
tents  of  that  stomach  enough  of  the  pure  strychnine 
to  kill  a  rabbit,  and  show  its  poisonous  action  in  that 
way  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  enough  of  the  material." 

"  You  are  willing  "  —  and  now  the  judge  spoke  very 
slowly  and  deliberately  —  "  you  are  willing,  then,  Samuel 
Drew,  before  Almighty  God,  knowing  that  on  your 
words  hangs  the  life  of  a  human  being,  to  swear  that 
strychnine,  only  strychnine,  nothing  but  strychnine, 
could  have  produced  that  reaction  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

The  eyes  of  the  man  of  justice  fell  upon  his  book, 
and  he  made  a  note.  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  prisoner ; 
he  sneered  in  return.  I  sought  the  face  of  Susie,  but  no 
expression  other  than  sadness  could  be  seen.  Then  the 

375 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

attorney  said,  "  The  witness  may  be  excused,"  and  I 
turned  my  gaze  upon  the  floor.  After  the  cross-exam 
ination  which  did  not  in  any  way  break  the  force  of  the 
evidence  the  case  was  ready  for  the  defence,  the  prosecu 
tion  having  proved  : 

First.    Mr.  Nordman  and  Red-Head  had  quarrelled. 

Second.  Red-Head  had  bought  strychnine  of  the  vil 
lage  druggist. 

Third.  Mr.  Nordman  had  been  suddenly  stricken  by 
a  severe  pain  in  his  stomach,  accompanied  by  paroxysmal 
muscular  contractions. 

Fourth.  Strychnine  was  present  in  the  contents  of  the 
stomach. 

But  night  was  on  us  again,  and  Court  now  adjourned. 
The  next  day  was  consumed  in  evidence  for  the  defence, 
then  came  the  rebuttal  by  the  prosecution,  which  right 
was  waived. 

The  fourth  morning  found  the  audience  in  place ;  had 
photographs  been  taken,  the  same  faces  would  have  been 
seen  in  the  same  places,  so  far  as  the  persons  directly 
interested  in  the  case  were  concerned.  I  do  not  like  to 
reflect  over  the  address  of  the  attorney  for  the  defence, 
who,  following  the  opening  speech  of  the  prosecution, 
and  realising  that  the  evidence  was  against  him,  turned 
all  his  eloquence  in  the  direction  of  emotional  humanity. 
He  depicted  the  unfortunate  position  of  the  homeless, 
helpless  young  man  before  us.  He  pictured  my  conspic 
uous  place  in  life ;  he  drew  the  sympathies  of  that  audi 
ence  to  the  prisoner,  and  upon  me  he  directed  their  ill-will 
and  scowls.  Hatred  flashed  from  many  an  eye  as  ru; 
took  that  little  porcelain  dish  in  his  hand,  and  said : 
"  That  man  comes  here  from  the  North,  he  touches  a 
liquid  with  a  bit  of  stuff,  and  it  turns  blue,  violet-blue, 
for  an  instant.  He  asks  you,  men  of  Stringtown  County, 

376 


"The  Feud  is  Over,  Holcomb" 

to  hang  a  resident  of  Stringtown  County  because  this 
blue  colour  comes  in  a  dish.  Kentuckians,  did  ever 
Kentucky  Court  witness  such  a  farce  ?  When  a  man 
plunges  a  knife  into  another,  a  witness  may  swear  to  the 
fact,  for  that  is  evidence  of  fact.  When  a  witness 
swears  that  he  saw  the  flash  of  the  gun  or  pistol,  and  saw 
the  victim  fall,  that  is  competent  testimony  ;  but  when  a 
man  comes  from  afar  and  touches  a  dish  with  a  glass 

D 

rod,  and  asks  you  to  hang  a  Kentuckian  because  a  spot 
of  porcelain  turns  purple,  that  is  audacious  presumption, 
and  is  neither  evidence  nor  testimony.  Kentuckians,  I 
swear  by  all  that  is  holy,  that  if  you  become  a  party  to 
this  monstrous  crime,  a  few  dollars  hereafter  will  hire  a 
horde  of  hungry  chemists  from  the  North  to  show  a 
colour  in  a  dish  to  whoever  cares  wrongly  to  gain  an  in 
heritance  or  wishes  to  hang  an  enemy.  There  will 
scarcely  be  time  to  keep  the  gallows  oiled,  so  rapid  will 
be  the  hangings  in  Kentucky.  No  rich  man  will  rest  in 
his  grave  with  a  whole  stomach,  for  these  ghouls  will 
find  chemists  to  swear  that  all  who  die  are  poisoned." 

Turning  to  me,  he  shook  his  finger  in  my  face. 
"  There  sits  a  man  who  lived  once  in  Stringtown,  who 
should  love  his  village  and  his  State,  but  who  comes  back 
to  us  to  hang  the  companion  of  his  youth.  He  and  the 
prisoner  were  boys  together,  they  sat  in  the  same  school- 
house,  played  in  the  same  schoolyard,  lived  in  the  same 
village.  One  is  a  man,  the  other  a  chemist !  but  I  say 
in  all  earnestness,  that  I  would  rather  be  the  innocent 
Kentuckian  who  hangs  —  the  man,  my  friends  —  than  the 
renegade  who  hangs  him  !  "  The  attack  was  vicious,  and 
I  realised  that  his  words  could  move  men  to  violence  had 
no  violence  been  previously  contemplated.  Why  did 
Judge  Elford  allow  this  personal  attack,  some  persons 
may  ask  ?  It  was  not  his  place  to  prevent  the  defene* 

377 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

from  breaking  my  testimony  by  any  method  possible^ 
and  when  the  attorney  was  through  I  realised  that,  re 
gardless  of  the  verdict,  I  was  disgraced  in  the  land  of  my 
old  home,  and  I  felt,  too,  that  men  present  were  ready, 
perhaps  by  violence,  to  take  the  part  of  Red-Head, 
should  the  jury  decide  that  he  must  hang. 

But  the  closing  argument  of  the  prosecution  modified 
conditions  somewhat,  and  the  charge  of  the  judge  to  the 
jury  was  so  clear  and  comprehensive  as  to  leave  no  cause 
of  complaint  by  either  party. 

"The  evidence  is  circumstantial,  but  it  is  necessarily 
so  in  cases  such  as  this,  for  those  who  poison  others  are 
never  seen  to  do  the  act.  They  are  like  thugs  who  lie 
concealed  in  the  night  and  deal  a  man  a  blow  from  be 
hind.  And  yet,"  he  added,  "  not  only  must  the  jury  be 
convinced  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  prisoner  bought  the 
strychnine,  but  that  strychnine  was  in  the  stomach,  and 
that  the  prisoner  administered  it.  If  such  has  been 
proven  by  the  testimony  offered,  the  prisoner  is  as  much 
subject  to  the  severest  penalty  of  the  law  as  though  he 
had  fired  a  bullet  into  the  victim.'* 

Much  more  did  this  learned  man  say  to  those  who 
held  the  life  of  the  prisoner  in  their  hands ;  coolly,  im 
partially,  clearly,  was  the  charge  given.  After  the  judge 
concluded  that  afternoon  the  jury  retired,  and  then  we 
sat  awaiting  their  return,  —  sat  until  the  evening's  shad 
ows  were  nearly  on  us. 

No  longer  an  object  of  attention,  I  changed  my  place 
to  one  of  less  conspicuity.  I  drew  my  chair  back  into  a 
corner  made  by  the  witness  box  and  the  prisoner's  raised 
platform,  and  from  that  position  found  that  I  could 
observe  the  entire  room,  and  be  less  exposed  to  peering 
eyes.  To  my  left  sat  the  judge,  to  my  right,  in  the 

378 


"The  Feud  is  Over,  Holcomb" 

second  row  of  spectators,  sat  Susie  and  Cupe,  and 
directly  in  front  of  me  the  prisoner.  By  his  side  stood 
the  sheriff  with  exposed  pistols  ready  for  a  touch,  and 
beyond  these  two,  nearly  in  line  with  them,  sat  old  man 
Holcomb  amid  his  men  from  the  mountains.  When  I 
looked  at  Red-Head,  I  could  see  the  sheriff  and  Hol 
comb,  for  they  were  all  in  line  and  covered  by  the  same 
field  of  vision.  Buzzing  voices  broke  now  upon  the  ear, 
for  during  the  recess  the  tongues  of  the  men  of  String- 
town  and  of  Stringtown  County  were  loosed.  I  fancied, 
too,  that  many  coats  that  had  been  buttoned  previously 
were  now  open,  but  this  may  have  been  fancy. 

How  would  these  men  take  the  verdict  of  the  jury  in 
case  it  was  against  the  prisoner  ?  What  would  be  their 
programme  ?  I  looked  at  Holcomb  ;  he  made  no  move 
ment,  nor  yet  did  any  of  his  clan.  Red-Head  sat  impas 
sive;  Susie's  eyes  were  downcast;  Cupe  seemed  to  be 
asleep ;  Judge  Elford  rested  his  head  on  his  hand,  and 
tapped  the  desk  gently  with  a  pencil ;  the  armed  sheriff 
stood  upright  and  still.  Then  at  last  came  a  message 
to  the  judge,  who  sent  back  an  order,  and  soon  the  jury 
filed  slowly  into  the  room  and  stood  in  line  while  the 
foreman  presented  a  folded  paper  : 

"  We  do  hereby  find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  murder  in 
the  first  degree." 

Then  Judge  Elford  rose,  and  as  he  did  so  I  caught  his 
glance,  and  so  did  others,  for  he  swept  his  eyes  about  the 
room,  resting  them  now  and  then  on  a  face.  Finally 
they  turned  to  the  prisoner.  "  Stand  up,  prisoner,"  and 
Red-Head  arose. 

Slowly,  distinctly,  the  judge  pronounced  the  sentence 
of  death.  Had  I  been  the  murderer  the  message  could 
not  have  affected  nor  shocked  me  more.  Not  a  muscle 
did  Red-Head  move,  not  a  tremor  in  his  frame,  not  an 

379 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

evidence  of  fear  or  shame  did  he  exhibit.  And  when 
the  words  were  spoken,  "  I  do  hereby  sentence  you  to 
be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead,  and  may  God 
have  mercy  on  your  soul !  "  he  gave  no  show  of  emotion. 
But  I  saw  him  glance  toward  old  Holcomb,  who  then 
awkwardly  arose,  a  picturesque  figure,  and  amid  silence 
as  intense  as  that  in  which  Cupe  figured  in  this  same 
room  many  years  before,  he  politely  asked  of  the  judge  : 

"  Is  thar  no  hope  fer  the  boy,  Jedge  ?  Kin  an  old 
friend  from  the  moun'ns  do  nuthin'  fer  the  lad  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Ef  I  '11  go  down  ter  whar  he  Stan's  an*  take  his 
place  —  will  yo'  let  the  boy  go  free  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Et  's  a  life  yo'  wants,  yo'  man  ov  law,  a  life  fer  a 
life,  but  et  seems  ter  me  thet  et  ain't  fair  ter  take  a 
young  one  fer  thet  ov  the  old  man  who  hed  lived  his'n 
away.  I  'm  old,  Jedge,  an'  the  boy  's  young ;  take  me  'n 
let  him  live  et  out." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  He  's  the  last  ov  his  fam'ly,  Jedge,  an'  I  'm  the  last 
ov  mine.  Thar  ain't  no  hopes  fer  me,  but  the  boy  hes 
prospects." 

The  judge  shook  his  head. 

Holding  out  his  left  hand  and  pointing  his  long  finger 
at  the  upright  prisoner,  whom  he  faced,  the  old  man 
slowly  said  :  "  He  an'  his'n  killed  every  Holcomb  but 
me,  an'  me  an'  mine  killed  every  moun'n  Nordman  but 
him.  Thar  's  a  feud  betwixt  him  an'  me,  anj  et  must 
be  fought  ter  the  end  fer  the  honor  ov  the  two  fam'lies 
what's  dead." 

Then  came  a  movement  so  quick  that  I,  who  had 
both  Holcomb  and  the  prisoner  in  line,  hardly  caught  its 
import  before  the  deed  was  done.  The  right  hand  of 

380 


"The  Feud  is  Over,  Holcomb." 

the  old  man  suddenly  drew  a  pistol  from  some  unseen 
pocket,  and  with  one  sweep  of  the  arm  discharged  it  full 
into  the  chest  of  Red-Head,  who,  with  eye  close  fixed 
on  the  speaker,  as  that  movement  was  begun,  caught 
one  of  the  weapons  from  out  the  belt  of  the  sheriff. 
Younger,  quicker  and  more  expert,  his  hand  was  not  less 
sure ;  the  two  flashes  lighted  the  room  as  if  but  one,  the 
two  reports  were  simultaneous. 

A  drop  of  blood  sprang  into  view,  just  in  the  centre 
of  the  forehead  of  the  old  man,  who  dropped  lifeless  into 
the  arms  of  his  companions.  The  prisoner  stood  up 
right  ;  his  face  turned  white,  his  lips  moved  slowly,  and 
as  by  a  mighty  effort  he  said  :  "  The  feud  is  over, 
Holcomb."  He  struggled  to  stand,  and  murmured  :  "  I 
did  n't  pizon  Uncle  Nordman ;  I  shoots  like  a  man  ; 
et  's  a  lie,  I  say."  Then  he  sank  slowly  into  his  seat, 
raised  his  head  by  one  last  effort  and  muttered  :  "  Bury 
me  beside  ov  little  Sissie  in  the  mou'ns,  and  bury  the 
doll  with  me.  I  hain't  no  other  friends  but  Susie  and 
the  doll." 

I,  who  sat  near  him,  heard  every  word  and  saw  every 
movement  he  made.  That  flash  came  from  a  weapon 
which  did  not  rest,  that  bullet  went  straight  to  its  mark 
in  the  dusk  of  evening  from  a  moving  pistol  ;  and  then 
I  thought  of  the  five  holes  in  a  circle  around  a  centre 
shot  made  on  a  mark  in  the  Stringtown  schoolyard  in 
the  years  that  had  passed. 


381 


CHAPTER   LXIII 

A    STRANGE    LOVE-STORY 

NEITHER  the  next  day  nor  yet  the  day  following 
did  I  return  to  the  University.  I  had  arranged 
for  an  absence  of  two  weeks,  and  of  this  three  days 
remained.  Fortunate  is  it  that  this  was  so,  for  I  was 
not  in  condition  to  attend  to  my  class  duties.  The 
tragic  ending  of  that  trial  unnerved  me.  In  the  privacy 
of  my  home  I  repented  over  and  again  of  my  course  in 
the  matter  of  this  expert  testimony  ;  not  that  I  had  any 
question  concerning  its  scientific  accuracy  and  truthful 
ness,  but  because  I  appreciated  that  I  had  gone  out  of 
my  way  to  assume  a  responsibility  I  could  easily  have 
declined.  The  penitence  I  did  involved  no  change  of 
character,  and  probably  had  I  to  do  the  work  over  again 
I  would  have  made  no  change  of  conduct.  The  vicious 
personal  attack  of  that  lawyer  for  the  defence  ran  ever 
through  my  ears,  the  pleadings  of  Susie  in  my  laboratory 
the  night  of  the  storm,  and  the  generous  entreaty  of 
Judge  Elford  in  the  privacy  of  his  home  —  in  which  he 
asked  God  to  strike  him  lifeless  rather  than  that  he 
should  be  forced  to  make  a  death  charge  on  the  expert 
testimony  of  a  chemist — would  not  be  quieted.  To 
this  may  be  added  the  effect  produced  by  the  dramatic 
climax  of  the  trial  and  the  last  words  of  Red-Head, 
spoken  when,  for  the  first  time,  the  only  time,  his  skin 
was  white.  I  visited  no  one  in  Stringtown,  I  saw  no 

332 


A  Strange  Love-Story 

one,  and  yet,  I  repeat,  not  yet  was  it  remorse  that  pos 
sessed  me.  The  second  day  of  my  seclusion  passed,  and 
late  that  afternoon  came  a  double  surprise.  Old  Cupe 
appeared  bearing  a  letter  to  my  mother,  who  retired  from 
the  room  to  read  it,  leaving  Cupe  standing  near  where  I 
was  seated.  I  exchanged  a  pleasantry  with  the  negro, 
to  which  he  replied  in  his  usual  polite  manner.  Then 
he  added  : 

"  Ma'se  Samuel,  yo  '11  'scuse  de  ole  man  ef  he  ax  a 
quistion  ?  " 

"  Surely,  Cupe." 

"  Et  seems  t'  de  fool  nigger  es  ef  Red-Head  might 
hab  been  alibe  had  he  gone  back  t'  de  mount'ns  'bout 
ten  yeahs  ago  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Cupe." 

"  An'  he  would  hab  gone  but  fo'  Susie." 

"  Probably." 

"  An'  ef  yo'  had  not  come  back  t'  tole  de  truff  'bout  de 
pizon,  recken  de  jidge  might  hab  let  him  gone  scott  free  ?  " 

"Possibly." 

u  De  fool  sign  what  yo'  might  hab  fergot  'bout  said 
dat  Red-Head  'ud  die  sudden  an'  dat  Susie  an'  yo'  'ud 
be  de  cause  ob  et.  Fool  sign,  nigger  sign,  yo'  know." 

"  Yes." 

"  But  et 's  monstrous  cu'yus  how  et  jes  happened  t' 
come  true  —  " 

At  this  point  my  mother  returned  and  dismissed  the 
negro,  who  did  not  have  a  chance  to  finish  his  "quis 
tion,"  but  he  had  said  enough  to  illustrate  that  he  still 
watched  the  record  of  the  evil  omen. 

"  Sammy,"  began  my  mother,  "  I  hope  to-morrow  in 
part  to  repair  the  wrong  I  did  when  I  forbade  you  meet 
ing  Miss  Susie  Manley." 

"  Miss  Susie  Manley  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

383 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"Yes,  my  son." 

"  Explain  yourself,  mother." 

"  The  girl  known  as  Susie,  the  adopted  daughter  of 
the  dissolute  Corn  Bug,  was  in  reality  the  child  of  his 
half-brother,  Mr.  Manley,  who  met  her  mother  at  a 
Northern  watering-place.  He  kept  the  matter  secret, 
but  in  some  manner  Judge  Elford  learned  of  it,  and  at 
once  visited  that  part  of  New  York  State  to  investigate 
the  subject.  He  found  that  Mr.  Manley  became  in 
volved  in  a  love  affair  with  this  woman  and  married  her 
in  secret  very  soon  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife  —  so 
soon  that  publicity  would  have  been  a  reflection  on  him 
self  and  a  humiliation  to  his  children.  For  this  reason 
perhaps,  absolute  secrecy  was  observed  by  him.  The 
judge  states  that  he  acted  cruelly,  even  to  leading  her  to 
believe  she  was  not  married,  and  brutally  driving  her 
from  his  door,  but  that  was  years  ago,  and  no  good  to 
the  living  can  come  of  uncovering  those  incidents.  The 
sinful  man  went  down  to  sudden  death  without  having 
done  the  child  justice.  Judge  Elford  found  the  record 
in  New  York  State  clear  and  perfect,  and  on  his  written 
statement,  and  a  legal  process  as  well,  the  girl  has  come 
into  her  own  good  name  and  her  share  of  the  father's 
fortune.  This  I  did  not  tell  you  sooner,  knowing  that 
you  were  worried  over  the  case  in  which  you  were  to  be 
a  witness.  But  that  professional  subject  is  now  off  your 
mind,  and  the  future  only  concerns  you." 

"  Mother,  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  this,  but  I  asked 
no  Court  record  to  give  me  the  privilege  of  loving  Susie, 
nor  could  I  love  her  better  had  she  a  hundred  birth  cer 
tificates  from  the  Court  and  from  Society.  You  are  too 
late,  however,  in  voicing  your  good  intentions,  for  the 
girl  loved  another;  he  is  dead,  and  I  testified  against  him. 
She  will  never  forgive  me  —  never  !  that  I  well  know." 

384 


A  Strange  Love-Story 

"  Susie  will  dine  with  us  to-morrow ;  she  has  accepted 
my  invitation.  Cupe  brought  the  note.  This  is  a  sur 
prise  that  I  had  in  store  for  you,  but  for  good  reasons  I 
did  not  speak  of  it  before  receiving  her  acceptance  of  my 
invitation." 

"  Susie  coming  here  to  dine  with  us ;  are  you  sure  of 
it,  mother  ?  " 

"  Read  her  answer." 

"  And  yet,  mother,  I  cannot  believe  she  will  be  pleased 
to  have  me  present.  I  fear  the  result  of  our  meeting  may 
be  painful  to  both  of  us." 

"  My  child,  you  do  not  understand  women.  They 
are  not  always  what  they  seem  to  be,  nor  do  they  always 
know  themselves.  Possibly  Susie  did  not  love  Red-Head 
as  you  thought  she  did,  and  even  if  it  is  true,  she  will 
now  turn  to  another." 

I  did  not  reply,  for  I  was  perplexed.  My  mother  was 
not  a  match-maker,  and  I  felt  that  she  wished  only  to 
undo  a  wrong  that  she  had  previously  done  the  girl  and 
myself.  But  she  did  not  know  all  that  I  knew  ;  had  she 
done  so,  she  would  never  have  arranged  a  meeting.  The 
girl  who  came  to  my  laboratory  in  a  winter  night  and 
begged  me  in  behalf  of  Red-Head  to  remain  away  from 
Stringtown,  who  stood  indignant  before  me  when  I  de 
clined  to  do  so,  who  threw  into  my  face  the  words, cc  God 
help  you,  man  of  science  !  "  and  then  left  me  late  at 
night  in  that  storm  to  seek  the  old  man  in  the  mountains, 
could  have  no  love  for  me.  This  my  mother  did  not 
know,  or  she  would  never  have  sought  to  bring  us  to 
gether  beneath  her  roof. 

At  the  expected  hour  the  next  day  Susie  came.  Self- 
possessed  as  she  had  always  been,  no  evidence  of  grief 
or  traces  of  sorrow  were  on  her  face.  We  talked  of 
other  times,  of  other  lands  and  of  current  events.  My 
25  38$ 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

mother  left  the  room.  But  still  no  word  did  we  uttei 
concerning  the  tragedy  through  which  we  had  so  re 
cently  passed,  or  of  the  incidents  in  which  we  had  taken 
part  during  the  years  that  were  gone.  But  I  thought 
of  all  these  things,  and  I  think  she  did  too,  although 
no  mention  was  made  of  aught  that  lay  nearest  my 
heart. 

When  the  hour  for  her  departure  arrived,  I  turned  with 
her  into  the  way  that  led  back  through  the  pasture  toward 
her  home.  On  the  distant  fence  sat  Cupe  awaiting  his 
charge,  and  when  he  saw  us  he  shuffled  on  ahead,  leav 
ing  us  far  behind  walking  together  in  the  meadow.  At 
last  we  stood  again  in  the  shade  just  where  we  stood  once 
before  on  the  crooked  narrow  path  that  led  through  the 
valley ;  in  the  very  spot  where  I  had  handed  her  the 
flower  that  afternoon  long  ago.  Did  she  think  of  that 
day  ?  I  cannot  say,  but  I  know  that  I  did,  and  impul 
sively,  as  I  had  done  before,  I  caught  her  hand. 

"  Susie,  when  we  last  met  in  this  valley  I  stood  before 
you  as  I  do  now,  pleadingly,  but  you  begged  me  as  a 
personal  favour  to  ask  my  mother's  permission  to  finish 
a  sentence  that  I  longed  to  speak,  and  this  request,  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  I  foolishly  granted.  I  asked  her 
consent,  as  I  promised  you  to  do.  Yesterday  she  spoke 
again,  and  I  am  now  free  to  say  all.  For  I  too  have  waited 
long."  I  seized  both  her  hands,  pressed  them  between 
my  own  palms  and  told  my  story. 

She  looked  down  into  the  grassy  path,  and  replied  : 
"  I  accepted  the  invitation  to  your  home  to-day  because 
I  wished  you  to  tell  me  this  that  I  might  answer.  It  is 
now  too  late.  It  is  now  too  late." 

"Susie,  if  it  is  too  late,  you  have  been  the  cause, 
not  I.  I  loved  you  then,  I  love  you  now.  Is  a  man's 
love  so  light  a  thing  ?  " 

386 


A  Strange  Love-Story 

"  Mr.  Drew,  I  am  no  coquette,  and  I  have  not  sacri 
ficed  my  womanhood  by  leading  you  to  express  your  love 
for  me  in  order  to  reject  it.  I  have  led  you  to  say  what 
you  have  said  in  order  to  free  you  from  a  hopeless  attach 
ment.  This  distress  I  once  saved  myself  by  asking  you 
to  wait,  as  I  knew  you  must  wait  if  you  sought  your 
mother's  permission  to  speak.  I  gave  myself  this  chance, 
for  I  wanted  to  say  yes ;  I  hoped  that  it  might  some  day 
be  possible  for  me  to  say  yes,  as  you  have  wished  me  to. 
But  to-day,  without  any  hope  whatever,  I  repeat  it  is  now 
too  late." 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Susie  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  will  never  love  anyone  else."  She  had 
withdrawn  her  hands  from  my  grasp  and  stood  with 
downcast  eye  twirling  a  leaf  between  her  fingers,  then  it 
dropped  on  the  ground. 

"  But  you  once  loved  Red-Head  ? " 

"  As  a  friend ;  misfortune  drew  us  together.  We 
were  both  homeless.  He  was  nobody  but  Red-Head.  I 
was  Susie  Nobody.  Our  sufferings  and  our  persecutions 
were  in  common.  What  could  I  do  but  cling  to  him 
after  that  incident  in  the  Stringtown  school  ?  He  loved 
me,  too,  and  he  also  knew  that  I  loved  you.  Had  he  not 
been  true  to  the  promise  I  forced  from  him  by  reason  of 
the  love  he  bore  me,  long  since  muscle,  and  not  brain, 
would  have  won.  Had  I  not  pleaded  with  him,  he  would, 
years  ago,  have  done  you  harm,  for  murder  was  in  his 
heart.  I  loved  you,  and  I  saved  you,  but  I  sacrificed 
myself  in  doing  so.  This  I  also  wished  to  say  before 
you  left  Stringtown,  for  I  long  to  have  you  think  kindly 
of  me  ;  that  is  why  I  came  to-day  to  your  home,  for  this 
purpose  I  am  with  you  now." 

"  Susie,"  I  said  sadly,  "  I  ask  your  pardon  for  the 
words  I  spoke,  for  the  unjust  things  I  felt.  Let  the  past 

387 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

go.  Be  my  wife;  leave  Stringtown,  with  its  hateful 
memories;  go  with  me  to  the  North." 

"It  is  now  too  late,  I  say,  unless"  —  then  she 
stopped. 

"  Unless  what  ?  " 

"  Unless  I,  too,  learn  to  be  a  chemist  and  become  as 
assured  as  are  you  that  strychnine  killed  Mr.  Nordman." 

"  With  your  education  for  a  foundation,  two  sessions 
of  special  application  will  be  sufficient  to  accomplish 
you  so  that  you  can  apply  all  the  tests  I  used." 

"  And  will  you  be  my  teacher  ?  " 

«  Gladly." 

"  Will  you  promise  to  act  toward  me  as  though  I 
were  any  other  student,  to  neglect  me  personally,  to 
reprimand  me  for  my  awkwardness,  and  be  patient  with 
me  in  my  dulness,  to  speak  no  word  of  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  it  so." 

"  I  shall  apply  for  permission  to  matriculate  in  your 
University,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  ask  to  take  a  special 
course  in  Chemistry,  for  that  alone  is  what  I  need  to 
free  myself  from  this  suspicion." 

"  And  when  you  are  convinced  of  the  accuracy  of 
the  tests  I  used,  will  you  be  mine  — my  wife,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Yes ;   I  hope  it  may  end  that  way." 

"  It  cannot  be  otherwise.  But  women  are  creatures 
of  deep  prejudices  and  are  often  controlled  by  their 
emotions  and  not  by  reason.  What  if  you  should  not 
be  convinced  ?  " 

"You  will  need  my  prayers,  and  shall  have  them." 
She  slipped  her  arm  into  mine,  and  we  walked  to  her 
home  in  silence.  She  understood  me,  and  at  last  I 
understood  her. 

After  the  parting  I  retraced  my  steps  toward  String- 
town,  and  when  I  reached  the  spot  where  she  stood 

388 


A  Strange  Love-Story 

between  the  hills  I  stopped  and  picked  up  the  leaf 
dropped  at  the  moment  she  said,  "  Never  will  I  love 
another."  I  placed  it  carefully  in  my  note-book,  and  as 
I  did  so  a  face  came  from  out  the  thick  bushes  that  close 
bound  the  path;  so  close  was  it  that  I  could  have 
touched  with  my  finger  the  intruder. 

"  Ma'se  Sammy,  de  spot  fo'  de  sayin'  ob  yoah  lub 
speech  wah  slubrous,  but  de  bush  what  meets  de  lebes 
'bove  yoah  head  wah  a  bad  omen.  De  leaf  yo'  hab 
picked  up  am  a  hoodoo  leaf,  et  am  de  leaf  ob  de  witch- 
hazel  ;  de  cunjah  woman  use  et  too." 

I  saw  that  Cupe  had  been  concealed  in  the  tangle, 
and  had  heard  our  words.  u  Cupe,"  I  said,  "  I  tell  you 
again  that  I  care  nothing  for  your  omens  and  charms. 
Let  the  witch's  leaf  work  its  devilment,  Susie  and  ( 
understand  each  other.  You  take  good  care  of  your 
mistress,  and  I  will  answer  for  the  safety  of  the  keepsake 
leaf  in  my  vest  pocket."  The  head  of  the  old  negro 
was  withdrawn,  there  was  no  reply,  and  again  I  turned 
toward  Stringtown. 


339 


CHAPTER   LXIV 

a  I    CAME    TO    SAY    FAREWELL " 

IN  my  laboratory  in  the  University  on  the  Hill  once 
more  I  became  absorbed  in  work.  The  past 
seemed  like  a  dream ;  it  might  have  been  accepted  as  a 
dream  but  for  the  presence  of  Susie,  who  faced  me  in 
Uie  classroom  when  I  lectured,  who  patiently  bent  over 
her  desk  in  the  hours  of  study,  and  who  perseveringly 
stood  before  her  table  in  the  experimental  laboratory. 
She  came  to  her  work  regularly,  and  attended  to  her 
studies  as  persistently  as  though  her  ambition  centred 
only  on  the  science  of  chemistry.  No  word  of  praise, 
however,  did  she  get  from  me,  for  she  gave  me  no 
excuse  to  speak  it  ;  no  chance  occurred  by  which  I  could 
break  my  promise  of  personal  neglect ;  she  would  not 
have  it,  and  she  knew  how  to  hold  me  off.  Strangers 
were  we  seemingly  to  each  other,  although  my  coldness 
was  not  self-sought.  I  was  the  weaker  of  the  two, 
much  the  weaker;  I  craved  to  hold  her  hand  again  as  I 
did  that  evening  in  the  path  which  led  through  the 
witch-hazel  bushes,  but  she  gave  me  no  chance.  I 
would  surely  have  broken  my  vow,  I  could  not  have 
helped  breaking  it,  had  she  but  given  me  a  glance  such 
as  she  could  have  given  ;  but  no  glance  came;  she  was 
not  cold,  nor  yet  reserved  —  no,  nor  indifferent.  The 
same  eye  that  in  the  valley  path  led  me  on  to  speak  of 
my  love  now  held  me  aloof.  I  taught  her  chemistry  as 

390 


« I  Came  to  Say  Farewell " 

methodically  as  I  did  the  others ;  only  that  far  could  I 
go.  No  familiar  word  or  pleasantry  could  I  nerve  my 
self  to  utter.  She  knew  how  to  control  herself  and  to 
manage  me  ;  she  was  strong  and  appreciated  her  power, 
for  more  than  once  when  I  was  determined  to  ask  her  to 
reconsider  her  course  and  grant  my  prayer  she  gazed 
into  my  face,  and  then  my  tongue  failed.  It  was  silent 
love  on  my  part,  love  that  made  my  heart  ache  and  gave 
me  greater  pain  than  ever  came  from  out  the  hate  I  once 
bore  Red-Head. 

There  came  a  day  when  this  girl  who  gave  me  no 
word  or  glance  other  than  that  of  deep  regard  told  me 
that  she  had  decided  to  go  to  Europe  for  a  season.  My 
heart  sank.  We  stood  alone  in  the  University  grounds; 
she  had  taken  the  opportunity  of  our  meeting  on  a  by 
path  to  tell  me. 

u  Susie,"  I  replied,  u  you  do  not  know  what  I  have 
suffered  since  you  came  here.  You  have  tantalised  me 
beyond  endurance ;  you  know  that  I  worship  you,  and 
yet  you  turn  me  off  as  if  I  were  made  of  stone.  And 
now  you  intend  to  leave  for  Europe,  you  who  promised 
to  be  mine  when  chemistry  enough  was  gained  to  enable 
you  to  verify  the  tests  I  once  made  for  strychnine." 

"  I  shall  not  break  my  promise." 

"  Then  you  will  marry  me,  Susie  ?  " 

u  When  I  return  I  shall  come  to  you,  and  shall  stay 
with  you  forever,  unless  —  "  She  paused. 

"  Unless  what,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  need  rny  prayers." 

"Twice  have  you  said  that  you  might  have  to  pray 
for  me,  Susie.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"That  I  may  not  find  the  test  for  strychnine  as  I 
hope  to  find  it,  I  am  deeply  troubled,  Professor  Drew; 
not  cold,  not  heartless." 

391 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  And  if  you  are  not  satisfied  with  my  tests  ?  " 
"  More  prayers  will  be  needed  than  you  will  say,  and 
I  shall  devote  my  life  to  offering  them."  She  left  me 
standing  on  the  walk  meditating  over  her  words,  and 
soon  thereafter  she  departed  from  the  University.  Cupe, 
who  had  been  her  servant  in  the  boarding-house,  left, 
too,  when  she  did,  but  he  gave  me  no  parting  word. 
He  had  been  very  grum  since  our  meeting  in  the 
thicket ;  possibly  he  was  offended  over  the  incident  con 
cerning  that  leaf  of  witch-hazel  which  I  refused  to  throw 
away. 

Another  year  passed.  Premature  grey  hairs  were 
reflected  from  my  mirror,  for  my  beard  and  hair,  too, 
were  touched  with  frost.  My  mother  slept  in  the 
Stringtown  churchyard,  i  had  learned  to  act  the  careless 
man,  to  cover  my  heartache,  to  smile  and  say  idle  words 
to  women  who  led  me  to  speak  them ;  to  throw  back 
the  laugh  into  the  face  of  the  man  who  lightly  touched 
upon  my  bachelor  life.  But  these  were  superficialities, 
beneath  which  throbbed  an  earnest  heart  longing  for  the 
breaking  of  the  dawn  which  would  bring  Susie  back,  for, 
with  the  fanaticism  of  a  fatalist,  I  felt  she  surely  would 
return. 

I  sat  alone  in  my  room  one  evening  in  December. 
A  flood  of  painful  reflections  came  over  me,  and  as  was 
my  wont  when  possessed  by  melancholy,  I  arose  and 
paced  the  room  back  and  forth.  But  as  this  brought  no 
relief,  I  next  muffled  myself  and  started  to  the  laboratory 
to  brush  away  the  torture  of  thought  by  means  of  the 
diversion  that  work  afforded,  for  I  had  learned  that  work 
alone  could  crush  these  pangs.  It  was  not  unusual  for 
me  thus  to  pass  my  evenings,  and  the  janitor  gave  him 
self  no  concern  when  he  observed  a  light  in  my  private 

392 


"I  Came  to  Say  Farewell" 

rooms.  But  I  could  not  smother  my  heartache  in 
study.  Again,  as  I  had  done  that  memorable  night  when 
Susie  came  to  plead  for  the  life  of  my  rival,  I  threw  up 
the  window  and  leaned  out  into  the  blackness.  The 
trunks  of  the  trees  beneath  me  could  be  seen  where  they 
cut  the  rays  of  light  from  a  feeble  lamp,  but  their  arms 
above  were  lost  in  the  gloom.  A  soft  wind  laden  with 
moisture  was  blowing  from  the  south,  and  it  also  bore 
misty  drops,  not  yet  heavy  enough  to  be  called  rain,  but 
still  denser  than  fog.  These  beat  against  my  skin,  and 
were  very  pleasant  to  my  heated  face.  A  sigh  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  two  briar-clad  graves  ;  it  rose 
and  fell  as  did  the  breeze,  keeping  time  to  the  wind  that 
blew  through  the  leafless  branches. 

Suddenly  there  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the 
gravel  walk  and  someone  rang  the  bell. 

"  Open  the  door ;  it  is  not  locked.  Follow  the  halls 
to  my  room,  No.  13  ;  you  need  not  knock,"  I  called, 
and  turned  again  to  my  thoughts. 

"  May  I  come  in,  Professor  Drew,"  and  I  turned  to 
meet  Susie,  who  stood  in  the  doorway.  Springing  up,  I 
caught  her  hand  and  drew  her  into  the  room,  while 
close  following  came  Cupe,  who  remained  standing 
while  we  seated  ourselves  beside  my  table-desk. 

"  At  last  you  are  here  again,  Susie,"  I  broke  out 
ardently  ;  "  I  have  waited  so  long  for  your  return ;  you 
come  now  to  stay  until  death  parts  us." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  To-morrow,"  she  said  sadly, 
"  I  must  return  to  Kentucky.  To-night  you  look  upon 
Susie  for  the  last  time.  Mr.  Drew,  I  came  to  say 
farewell." 

u  Girl,"  I  cried,  starting  up  excitedly  ;  "  you  will 
drive  me  mad.  I  have  been  led  to  hope  and  have  then 
been  heart-wrecked,  until  I  now  am  desperate.  You 

393 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

thrust  the  knife  into  my  heart  while  yet  I  was  a  boy, 
and  then  you  held  me  off  and  turned  it  just  enough  to 
wrack  my  soul.     Now  I  tear  it  out  and  cast  you  ofF." 

She,  too,  arose,  and  stood  with  downcast  face,  while  I 
turned  and  paced  back  and  forth  across  the  floor. 

"  Go  !  "  I  said  fiercely,  and  pointed  to  the  door ;  "  both 
of  you."  Neither  girl  nor  negro  moved,  both  remained 
standing,  and  at  last,  relenting  somewhat,  I  stepped  close 
to  Susie,  and  in  a  low  tone  said : 

"  Do  not  look  into  my  face ;  turn  your  eyes  the 
other  way,  for  I  fear  their  touch.  Tell  me  what  it  is 
that  brings  you  here  to-night." 

"  I  have  already  said  that  I  came  to  bid  you  farewell, 
Mr.  Drew,  and  to  add  that  wherever  you  may  be  in 
future  you  shall  have  my  prayers.  I  go  to  kneel  and  to 
work,  to  do  whatever  good  one  feeble  woman  can  in  the 
path  that  leads  to  final  peace." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you."     I  spoke  more  gently. 

"  Nor  can  you.  When  I  left  this  school  I  hoped  to 
return  to  give  you  my  love  and  become  your  wife.  But 
I  cannot  marry  a  —  "  she  stopped  short. 

"A  what,  Susie?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  for  I  cannot  tell  you."  She  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  demand  it." 

•  u  Sit  down,  Professor  Drew,  and  be  patient.  I  will 
tell  my  story,  and  then  you  may  supply  the  missing 
word." 


394 


CHAPTER  LXV 

"  YOU    HAVE    FOUGHT    AND    I    HAVE    LOVED  " 


I  repeat  the  story  of  our  first  meeting,  how 
with  bleeding  feet  and  sheet-white  face  you 
ran  into  our  cabin  that  night  many  years  ago  ?  Never 
since  have  I  failed  to  see  you  when  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  thought  of  that  incident,  which  Cupe  and  Dinah 
took  care  I  should  not  forget.  They  kept  your  name 
in  my  mind,  yours  and  that  of  Red-Head.  I  was  taught 
that  a  spell  linked  us  three  together  5  faithful  were  the 
two  negroes  to  their  superstitions,  in  which  I  too  be 
lieved,  for  I  was  not  less  ignorant  than  themselves  ; 
then  came  the  journey  to  Canada,  which  I  recall  vividly, 
although  I  was  a  little  child.  The  movements  of  the 
old  slaves  that  night,  the  chaining  of  Red-Head  to  the 
wall,  the  departure  from  the  old  cabin  and  the  pathetic 
farewell  to  the  graves  behind  it,  seem  strangely  real  to 
me  yet  ;  but  let  that  pass.  In  my  new  home,  near 
Quebec,  I  was  baptised  into  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
Cupe,  too,  learned  to  conform  to  the  sacred  ceremonies 
—  for  this  the  Lord  be  thanked.  A  miracle  was  it  that 
led  me  from  that  Kentucky  cabin  to  the  holy  portals  of 
Saint  Anneo  I  was  young,  it  is  true,  and  knew  not  the 
meaning  of  all  I  heard  in  that  sacred  spot  ;  but  the  seeds 
of  truth  were  sown,  and  young  yet  was  I  when  one  day 
we  left  that  land  of  snow,  as  Cupe  said,  to  find  for  me 
my  name.  I  could  tell  a  dramatic  story  of  a  toxic 

395 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

potion  that  a  Kentucky  man,  my  father,  was  forced  to 
drink  soon  after  we  entered  the  State.  He  pleaded  and 
struggled  and  fought  to  escape  the  ordeal  test,  and,  re 
fusing  still  to  grant  my  birthright,  passed  into  the  death 
struggles  j  but  no  good  can  come  of  reviving  that 
incident. 

"  At  last  we  were  settled  again  in  our  cabin  home, 
and  then  you  came  and  stepped  across  the  conjured 
threshold.  Cupe  and  Dinah  whispered  about  you  after 
you  left,  and  Dinah  made  another  conjure  for  you  as  she 
had  done  before.  Then  came  the  incident  in  the  String- 
town  school  and  the  cruel  words  of  Jennie  Manlcy. 
You  remember  the  part  Red-Head  took  that  day  ;  need 
I  repeat  it ;  need  I  remind  you  that,  leaning  on  his  arm, 
I  left  that  school  for  ever  ?  Red-Head  and  I  were 
thrown  much  into  the  company  of  each  other  thereafter ; 
no  other  friend  had  I,  no  girl  companions,  no  sister's 
love,  no  woman's  counsel,  no  mother  to  offer  words  to 
guide  me.  A  negro-bred  child  was  I ;  superstition  came 
with  every  breeze  from  without  and  every  whisper  from 
within  the  cabin ;  and  the  hatred  Red-Head  bore  you 
came  also  into  my  life  to  disturb  me.  But  I  yet  read 
and  studied  of  other  things ;  my  mind  unfolded  as  my 
form  developed,  and  you  know  that,  thanks  to  Mr. 
Wagner  and  yourself,  I  received  a  good  education 
abroad.  Finally  you  came  again,  as  you  may  well  re 
member,  for  it  was  the  night  you  fought  Red-Head  in 
my  presence  —  as  I  never  can  forget." 

"  Tell  me,  Susie,"  I  interrupted,  "  why  did  you  give 
me  one  of  the  roses  and  say  that  the  other  was  for  Red- 
Head  ? " 

"  Because  I  was  a  girl ;  there  is  no  other  reason, 
there  need  be  no  other.  For  the  once  I  teased  you,  but 
I  was  a  girl." 

396 


"You  have  Fought,  &c." 

"You  placed  that  reserved  rose  on  my  picture, 
however." 

"  I  thought  of  you  only.     I  say,  forgive  me." 

«  Go  on." 

"  Then  came  the  question  you  asked  when  we  stood 
in  the  path  in  the  valley,  and  then  I  did  not  do  my  duty. 
I  led  myself  to  hope  against  hope.  I  should  have  said 
no  positively,  but  in  a  moment  of  weakness  I  deferred 
the  painful  parting,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  not  be 
necessary.  Do  you  know  that  when  I  sought  you  in 
this  room  to  beg  you  to  keep  away  from  the  Court  of 
Stringtown  County,  I  came  prepared  to  tell  you  of  my 
good  name  and  to  say  yes,  had  you  asked  me  to  be 
yours  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  mean  it,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Surely.  I  was  then  aware  of  my  birthright,  and  had 
you  not  turned  from  me,  had  you  not  crushed  my  heart 
by  your  coldness,  had  you  sacrificed  but  a  trifle  of  your 
ambition  for  the  love  of  your  fellow-man,  I  would  have 
told  you  all.  But  you  chilled  me  by  refusing  my  simple 
request,  and  I  left  you,  for  I  had  promised  Red-Head  to 
carry  a  message  into  the  mountains ;  you  know  the  rest, 
you  know  the  result.  I  kneeled  beside  the  dead  boy, 
dead  because  of  you  and  me,  and  then  arose  and  linked 
my  arm  in  yours  to  help  Judge  Elford  protect  you  from 
the  men  about  you.  When  I  bade  you  farewell  that 
night,  Professor  Drew,  we  had  approached  the  parting 
of  the  way. 

"  Now  the  time  has  arrived  for  me  to  bid  you  fare 
well  again,  and  for  ever ;  never  again  will  we  walk  arm- 
in-arm  or  meet  on  the  same  path."  She  wrung  her 
hands,  but  did  not  weep.  Tears  might  have  eased  her 
heartache,  but  no  tears  came.  Suddenly  she  stopped 
before  me. 

397 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  live  a  tainted  life- 
course.  You  cannot  comprehend  the  sufferings  of  those 
who  long  for  a  touch  of  kindness  from  humanity,  but 
who  meet  instead  the  scorn  of  men  and  women.  Oh  ! 
the  misery  of  a  hungry  heart.  I  had  done  no  crime,  no 
stain  was  on  my  life  record,  yet  no  friendly  word  came 
to  me  from  girls  of  my  age,  only  glances  that  made  me 
shrink  and  creep  back  into  the  wilds.  A  woman  longs 
for  love  j  if  a  woman  is  happy,  she  must  be  loved." 

"  But  I  loved  you,  Susie,  and  you  repulsed  me." 

"  For  your  own  sake  did  I  do  so.  You  did  not  know 
what  you  asked,  but  I  saw  the  danger  you  were  in. 
Better  be  dead  than  disgraced  ;  this  my  own  experience 
taught.  My  love  for  you  was  too  deep  to  permit  me  to 
bring  to  you  ruin." 

cc  Susie,  had  you  married  me,  the  Caint,  had  there  been 
any,  would  have  been  brushed  away.  You  are  super- 
sensitive,  you  magnify  those  things  that  have  been  close 
to  you.  You  have  wronged  us  both,  Susie ;  you  should 
have  married  me  and  let  me  care  for  your  future." 

"  Had  I  done  so  Red-Head  would  have  shot  you  dead. 
You  might  have  been  mine  no  longer  than  a  day.  I 
saved  your  life  as  well  as  your  good  name  by  asking  you 
to  wait ;  I  knew  more  than  you  knew  then,  and  of  these 
things  I  know  more  than  you  do  now.  I  did  not  say  no ; 
I  only  asked  you  to  wait,  Mr.  Drew." 

"  But  now  you  can  say  yes.  Red-Head  is  dead,  and 
no  stain  of  birth  rests  on  you,  Susie." 

I  read  in  her  face  the  story  of  despair ;  there  was  no 
cry  of  anguish  —  none  was  needed  —  for  voice  could 
not  have  carried  the  heart  touch  imparted  by  that  look. 

"  You  once  made  a  pledge,  Susie,  as  I  did ;  and  these 
two  pledges  were  recorded  when  we  both  were  young 
and  foresaw  not  the  future.  The  penniless  Stringtown 

398 


"You  have  Fought,  &c." 

boy  could  not  discern  the  independent  man  who  was  yet 
to  be,  nor  could  the  outcast  girl  divine  that  in  a  day  to 
come,  her  name  would  be  the  same  as  that  of  the  proud 
est  man  in  Stringtown  County.  And  yet  these  very 
things  have  come  to  pass.  You  were  looking  forward, 
hoping  against  the  impossible,  to  a  time  when  the  unjust 
taint  that  saddened  your  heart  would  be  removed ;  I  was 
wishing  for  honours  and  position  which  seemed  improb 
able.  Those  youthful  pledges  were  blunders  ;  let  us 
bury  them." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Susie,  an  oath  is  no  more  sacred,  if  it  be  the  output 
of  a  foolish  heart  or  of  inexperience  in  the  affairs  of  men 
or  of  error  of  judgment,  than  a  child's  empty  promise. 
You  were  a  foolish  girl,  I  a  silly  boy ;  the  oath  of  each 
was  an  error.  Now  when  these  absurd  errors  of  both 
heart  and  intellect  can  be  seen,  is  it  right  that  our  lives 
should  be  further  sacrificed  ?  Rather,  is  it  not  a  duty 
that  we  should  make  amends  for  the  crime  we  have  done 
in  fostering  this  stupid  fanaticism,  which  has  kept  us 
apart  in  the  past  and  bids  fair  now  to  wreck  our  future?" 

But  she  made  no  answer. 

"  What  is  the  object  of  life,  Susie  ?  To  rise  in  the 
morning  and  go  to  rest  at  night,  to  plan  and  scheme  and 
work !  To  laugh  a  little,  smile  a  little.  To  speak  a 
kind  word  or  say  a  harsh  one,  to  lighten  the  heartache 
of  a  fellow-man,  or  make  his  life  more  bitter  !  To 
make  amends  for  errors,  to  fight,  to  love ! " 

She  raised  her  eyes.  "  You  have  fought,  and  I  have 
loved,"  and  again  her  eyes  drooped. 

Then  abruptly  she  asked :  u  Will  you  give  me  back 
the  little  box  I  handed  you  that  night  in  the  cabin  in 
order  that  you  might  keep  in  mind  the  fact  that  I  too 
had  made  a  pledge  ?  " 

399 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

I  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  the  tin  box  ;  it  had 
never  left  me. 

"  And  must  I  give  this  up  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  no  man  has  the  right  to  such  a  keepsake  as  that 
from  a  woman  in  the  place  where  I  am  soon  to  be." 

I  opened  the  box  and  drew  from  it  a  lock  of  black 
hair. 

"  Can  I  not  keep  this  lock  of  hair  ?  " 

She  reached  out  her  hand,  but  I  hesitated  and  made  no 
motion  to  return  the  box.  "  The  keepsake  was  only 
loaned  you,  Mr.  Drew." 

I  pressed  the  tress  to  my  lips  and  then  gently  laid  it 
across  her  palm.  As  I  did  so  the  empty,  coffin-shaped 
box  fell  upon  the  floor.  Old  Cupe  shuffled  forward  and 
picked  it  up. 

"  De  shape  am  gruesome,  Ma'se  Drew.  YoJ  pYaps 
memberlec'  dat  Cupe  pinted  t'  de  shape  ob  dis  box  de 
night  he  han'  et  t'  yo'.  But  de  sign  am  fool  sign,  yo* 
know." 

"  All  signs  are  fool  signs." 

"  PYaps  yo'  memberlec'  dat  yo'  shake  de  han'  ob 
Cupe  'cross  de  doah-sill  dat  night,  too.  Guess  dat  fool 
sign  hab  'scaped  yoah  min'."  He  stepped  back  into  the 
shadows. 

Then  Susie  resumed :  "  And  this  reminds  me  that  I 
am  not  here  to  argue  over  things  that  might  have  been  ; 
and  reminds  me  also  that  I  have  not  told  you  why  I 
came  to-night.  Listen.  You  applied  the  colour  test  for 
strychnine,  and  on  that  test  Judge  Elford  gave  the 
charge  that  led  to  the  death  of  poor  Red-Head." 

"  Yes." 

"  Laudanum  was  administered  to  Mr.  Nordman  be 
fore  the  physician  came." 

44  Yes  i  1  found  morphine  too,  but  no  other  alkaloid." 
400 


"You  have  Fought,  &c." 

"  Professor  Drew,  are  you  aware  that  Mr.  Nord- 
man  took  his  usual  bitters  before  partaking  of  his 
breakfast  ?  " 

"  And  what  of  that  ?  Has  not  a  Kentucky  gentle 
man  the  right  to  take  his  dram  before  breakfast  ?  " 

"Are  you  aware  that  it  was  a  tonic  made  of  wild 
cherry  bark,  golden  seal  root,  and  whiskey  ?  " 

I  saw  that  while  the  girl  had  not  yet  unfolded  her 
scheme  she  was  driving  me  to  a  corner.  Suddenly  we 
became  antagonists. 

"  Why  did  you  come  here  to-night,"  I  said.  "  Have 
you  not  done  enough  of  wickedness  in  wrecking  my 
past  life  ?  But  for  you  Red-Head  would  have  gone 
back  to  the  mountains." 

"  I  repeat,  Mr.  Drew,  the  tonic  Mr.  Nordman  drank 
was  made  of  golden  seal  root,  wild  cherry  bark,  and 
whiskey." 

"  The  fact,  if  it  be  fact,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
strychnine,"  I  sneered.  cc  That  is  a  very  common  tonic 
in  Kentucky.  4 

"  Golden  seal  contains  a  colourless,  innocent  alkaloid." 

I  stood  so  near  that  I  could  easily  have  touched  her. 
Her  eye  was  fixed  on  mine,  and  I  felt  its  force  when 
she  spoke  that  name,  golden  seal.  I  saw  now,  too,  the 
end  of  her  argument,  and  that  she  proposed  to  claim 
that  I  had  mistaken  this  substance  for  strychnine. 

u  I  '11  squeeze  her  pretty  throat,"  I  thought  to  myself. 
u  The  love  of  other  men  has  suddenly  changed  to 
hatred  ;  for  less  than  this  other  men  have  strangled 
women  they  held  dear."  I  raised  my  hand ;  the  mus 
cles  of  my  wrists  were  fixed,  the  fingers  claw-like ;  the 
devil  possessed  me  when  I  lifted  my  arm  against  that 
defenceless  girl. 

But  a  black  face  came  now  between  us,  a  black  hand 
26  401 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

pushed  the  girl  back.  "  De  gearl  am  but  a  chile,  Ma'se 
Samuel ;  lis'n  t'  de  chile." 

Thrusting  the  negro  off,  I  attempted  to  reach  again 
for  the  throat  of  Susie,  who,  making  no  movement, 
stood  seemingly  undisturbed.  Then  I  was  looking  into 
the  muzzle  of  a  pistol.  "  Yo'  'blege  de  nigger  t'  keer 
fo'  de  chile ;  better  yo'  let  her  go  on  wid  de  story  an' 
den  go  back  t'  Kaintuck.  Cupe  am  monstrous  suah  yo' 
caint  hurt  de  chile." 

There  was  no  effort  to  sham  action.  I  knew  that 
the  negro  would  shoot  before  I  could  harm  his  charge. 
My  arm  dropped  and  the  watchful  guardian  slunk 
back.  Then  Susie  continued  : 

"  Golden  seal,  I  said."  She  looked  me  in  the  eye, 
awaiting  my  answer. 

"  Even  if  this  is  so,  that  substance  is  not  a  poison, 
nor  does  it  give  the  strychnine  poison  test." 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  small  vial  containing  a 
white  powder.  "  Will  you  test  that  powder  for  strych 
nine  ?  " 

I  turned  to  my  reagents,  always  convenient  in  this 
laboratory,  and  applied  the  test.  The  blue-violet  colour 
of  strychnine  sprang  into  existence.  "  It  contains  strych 
nine,"  I  said  with  some  agitation. 

"  It  does  not." 

"  Susie,  that  is  strychnine.  I  have  sworn  to  it  be 
fore,  and  now  reaffirm  my  statement,  but  I  add  to  u 
the  further  oath,  as  in  this  very  room  I  have  done  be 
fore.  My  reputation  is  at  stake.  If  that  be  not  strych 
nine  my  life  goes  out" 

"  Please  do  not  think  of  violence.  I  beg  you  to  do 
no  harm  to  yourself.  I,  too,  made  a  pledge  that  night, 
a  silent  vow,  and  am  now  on  my  way  to  begin  its  fulfil 
ment.  Now  I  seek  you  to  release  you  from  thought  of 

402 


"You  have  Fought,  &c." 

me,  not  to  judge  you  further.  This  I  promised  you  to 
do.  My  object  is  but  to  show  you  that  I  must  go  else 
where  than  with  you.  Put  up  the  weapon,  Cupe.  Pro 
fessor  Drew  would  not  harm  me." 

I  was  silenced.  Again  I  tested  the  powder,  first 
for  alkaloids,  then  for  strychnine,  and  again  the  char 
acteristic  colour  appeared.  "  It  surely  contains  some 
strychnine." 

"  No  trace  of  strychnine,  Mr.  Drew,  I  assure  you. 
Under  these  conditions,  your  test  is  at  fault.  I  believed 
you  were  wrong  when  you  testified  before  the  Court. 
I  knew  that  Red-Head  told  no  lie.  You  swore  by  your 
tubes  and  glasses,  but  I  believed  in  the  word  of  a  human 
being  in  whom  I  trusted.  You  were  a  great  chemist, 
I  a  weak  girl.  You  powerful,  I  helpless.  And  yet  I 
was  right  and  you  were  wrong." 

"  And  so  you  assert,"  I  continued,  u  that  strychnine 
was  not  present  ?  " 

"  Alas,  yes !  You  have  but  to  properly  mix  hydrastine 
and  morphine  to  obtain  the  colour  reaction  of  strychnine, 
although  neither  will  give  it  alone.  These  two  sub 
stances  you  admit  were  present  in  the  material  you 
tested,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "  Good-bye,  Professor  Drew. 
I  shall  leave  you  now ;  at  your  leisure  in  daylight  you 
may  verify  my  statement." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Susie  ?  " 

"  Where  neither  taint  of  birth  nor  dishonour  rests  on 
any  soul;  where  purity  of  heart  and  love  of  God  are 
one  and  inseparable ;  where  ascend  the  prayers  of  those 
who  live  not  for  themselves,  but  to  work  in  humanity's 
behalf.  If  from  this  peaceful  Mother  Home  I  go  out 
into  the  world,  it  shall  be  to  serve  mankind,  and  when 

403 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

the  life-work  to  which  I  devote  myself  henceforth  is 
done,  my  body  will  rest  in  the  blessed  home  of  the 
dead,  where  cluster  others  who  live  to  love,  and  pray 
and  die  in  Nazareth.  But  while  I  live  you  shall  not 
want  for  prayers,  my  brother."  She  extended  her 
hand.  "  Bid  Susie  farewell  for  ever." 

She  turned  to  the  door,  and  then  my  self-possession 
deserted  me.  Leaping  forward,  clasping  her  arm  with 
both  hands,  I  held  her  back.  "  Come  back,  my  dear 
one,"  J  cried ;  "  you  have  no  right  to  bury  yourself 
alive  ;  you  can  live  with  me,  and  yet  pray  for  me,  and 
serve  mankind  and  God,  too,  by  living  in  the  world." 

Then  uprose  the  words  Judge  Elford  once  had  spoken, 
a  prophecy  now :  "  Such  a  lovely  creature  must  be  holier 
and  lovelier  if  blossomed  untarnished  in  heaven." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  and  I  saw  a  tear  glisten  and 
then  roll  from  her  half-closed  lashes. 

"  I  cannot.  The  pledge  is  made."  Still  I  held  her 
hands. 

"  Thank  God  for  the  one  tear  you  have  shed,  Susie. " 

Preceded  by  Cupe,  she  moved  into  the  dimly  lighted 
hall  and  then  drew  her  arm  from  my  grasp,  passing 
onward  until  by  an  angle  both  were  shut  from  my  sight. 
And  then  I  stepped  to  the  front  window,  threw  it  up 
and  again  leaned  out.  From  toward  the  left,  where  slept 
old  Scroggins  and  his  sister,  came  the  weird  song  that 
the  night  sometimes  sings  ;  it  rose  as  my  wild  heart- 
cry  had  done,  and  died  into  nothingness,  as  had  my 
fruitless  pleadings.  From  beneath  me  just  then  two 
forms  passed  into  the  feeble  light  of  the  gas-lamp  and 
next  were  swallowed  in  the  darkness  beyond. 


404 


CHAPTER   LXVI 

u  TO    WHAT    HAS    AMBITION    LED  ?  " 

I  CANNOT  say  how  long  I  leaned  out  of  the 
window.  My  heart  was  desolate.  That  mournful 
tune  of  the  wind  and  the  two  forms  that  vanished  in  the 
night  as  the  sad  refrain  wore  out  were  companion  pieces 
which  by  eye  and  ear  carried  despair  to  my  soul.  But 
at  last  I  did  turn  back  and  closed  the  window.  On  the 
table  stood  that  vial  of  white  powder  and  beside  it  also 
the  dishes  used  in  testing  it. 

To  my  mind  came  the  fearful  oath  I  made  to  Susie 
when  I  affirmed  that  strychnine  surely  existed  in  that 
test  case.  "  I  know  potions  which  leave  no  mark  and 
yet  do  their  work  promptly.  If  this  be  not  strychnine 
my  life  goes  out."  I  turned  to  my  locked  cupboard,  in 
which  were  to  be  found  my  most  valued  and  rarest 
specimens.  Opening  it,  I  took  therefrom  a  wide- 
mouthed  bottle  containing  a  quantity  of  small  plant 
bulbs  and  a  letter.  Removing  the  letter,  I  replaced  the 
bottle  of  bulbs,  and  turning  the  key,  seated  myself  before 
my  desk.  Unfolding  the  letter,  which  was  post-marked 
in  a  certain  part  of  Arkansas,  I  read  as  follows : 

MY  DEAR  PROFESSOR  DREW  :  By  mail  to-day  I  send  you  a 
plant  which  grows  in  this  section  and  a  few  bulbs  from  the 
same  species.  These  possess  remarkable  powers.  Three 
children  recently  ate  of  them  and  died  slowly  and  painlessly. 
They  retained  possession  of  their  fall  mental  powers  to  the  last. 

405 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

My  efforts  to  relieve  them  were  useless.  I  have  tried  the 
tincture  of  the  bulbs  on  rabbits  ;  they  became  languid,  seemed 
not  to  suffer  at  all,  but  slowly  wasted  away.  At  last  they  quietly 
went  to  sleep  and  did  not  awaken.  In  the  same  manner  the 
children  died.  Please  give  me  the  name  of  the  plant,  and  also 
investigate  its  constituents. 

Sincerely  yours, 


The  name  of  the  writer  I  suppress  ;  he  is  a  reputable 
physician.  Across  the  face  of  the  letter  in  my  own 
writing  I  find  recorded  :  "  Too  dangerous  a  drug  to 
be  made  known  through  science  to  the  public."  Twist 
ing  the  letter,  I  touched  it  to  the  flame,  watching  it 
burn  to  the  last  spark,  and  then  I  turned  off  the  gas 
and  went  home.  The  next  day  I  asked  William,  my 
assistant,  to  remain  after  school  hours,  saying  that  I 
had  a  powder  to  investigate.  Together  we  applied  the 
strychnine  colour  test,  to  which  it  responded.  Then 
pure  white  alkaloid  of  Golden  seal  and  pure  morphine 
were  separately  tested,  no  blue-violet  colour  occurring 
with  either.  Mixed  in  proper  proportion  (one  part 
of  the  alkaloid  to  nine  of  morphine),  the  blue-violet 
color  of  strychnine  asserted  itself. 

I  said  to  my  assistant :  "  Bring  me  the  reserved  por 
tion  of  the  material  we  tested  in  the  Stringtown  poisoning 
case." 

He  went  to  the  basement  and  returned  with  it.  This 
substance  we  also  tested,  with  the  former  result.  The 
next  day  we  purified  the  crystals,  and  by  appropriate 
method,  now  that  I  had  an  inkling  of  the  nature  of  the 
mixture,  I  separated  the  alkaloids.  No  strychnine  was 
present. 

"  I  can  supply  the  word  Susie  did  not  speak  when 
she  refused  to  finish  a  sentence,  William." 

406 


"To  What  has  Ambition  Led" 

"  What  word  ?  " 

"  Never  mind.  I  shall  do  my  duty."  I  opened  my 
private  locker,  and  took  the  bottle  containing  the  bulbs. 
u  William,  crush  these  bulbs  in  the  iron  mortar,  add 
alcohol,  make  a  tincture  of  them.  Be  very  careful ; 
this  makes  a  powerful  potion.  William,"  I  added,  "  I 
shall  be  very  busy  for  a  time  writing  a  work  which  I 
wish  to  complete  within  three  months.  I  shall  consider 
it  a  favour  if  during  that  period  you  will  assume  all 
possible  details  of  the  laboratory.  You  may  leave  me 
now  ;  I  wish  to  begin." 

From  that  day  I  spent  my  spare  time  at  my  desk. 
I  lived  my  life  over  and  passed  again  through  the  scenes 
which  concerned  me  in  my  boyhood.  And  each  day, 
with  the  cold  determination  of  a  fatalist  who  had  sworn 
to  do  an  act  of  justice,  I  took  ten  drops  of  the  tincture 
made  of  the  bulbs  from  Arkansas.  From  day  to  day 
I  grew  weaker,  but  suffered  no  pain.  My  friends  were 
at  last  alarmed.  I  gracefully  submitted  to  the  closest 
examination  that  the  medical  profession  could  make,  but 
no  fault  could  be  found  with  any  organ.  No  specialist 
could  discover  an  abnormal  condition.  Still,  I  lost 
strength,  flesh,  and  energy.  At  last  I  kept  to  my  room, 
and  then  became  confined  to  my  bed.  Wise  old  Doctor 
Smith  thought  he  knew  everything,  but  I  smiled  at  his 
lack  of  knowledge  in  this  case.  He  was  a  professional 
man  of  attainments, —  I  a  scientific  man,  and  we  were 
both  taking  a  lesson  of  our  master,  empiricism.  At  last 
he  declared  that  his  tonics  and  stimulants  had  on  me  no 
more  effect  than  water  ;  and  then  I  asked  :  "  Doctor, 
how  long  will  I  last  if  no  sudden  change  for  the  worse 
occurs  ?  Do  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me,  Doctor.  I  knew 
ten  weeks  ago  that  your  remedies  could  not  avail  in  my 
case." 

407 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

"Professor,  you  will  surely  last  two  weeks,"  he  replied. 
"  What  puzzles  me,  however,  is  that  you  have  no  symp 
tom  of  disease,  no  pain,  no  loss  of  appetite,  no  fever,  no 
delirium,  no  depression.  Your  temperature  is  normal, 
your  heart-beats  strong  and  full ;  you  are  well  in  every 
way,  but  are  slowly  wasting." 

"  I  have  been  declining  for  ten  weeks,"  I  answered. 
u  But  death  like  this  is  pleasant ;  at  least,  it  would  be  to 
one  whose  mind  is  free  from  remorse.  Will  you  do  me 
the  favour  to  send  William  to  me,  Doctor,"  I  asked, 
"  and  at  once  ?  " 

u  It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  deceive  you ;  too  well 
you  appreciate  your  condition,"  replied  the  physician. 
u  I  shall  send  William,  and  to-morrow  will  call  as  usual, 
hoping  that  this  last  prescription  will  effect  a  change." 
I  smiled  in  reply,  and  the  wise  man  left  me. 

"  Be  seated,  William,"  I  said  when  he  came  ;  "  I 
have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you  and  a  story  to  tell.  But 
before  beginning,  lock  the  door  :  we  must  not  be  dis 
turbed.  Now,  open  that  drawer,  take  from  it  the 
package  of  manuscript,  put  it  on  the  table  and  after 
this  interview,  in  detail  at  your  leisure  record  and  add  to 
the  manuscript  the  substance  of  this  interview.  Draw 
your  chair  closer  to  my  bedside,  for  talking  exhausts  one 
as  weak  as  I  am." 

Here  ends  the  manuscript  as  written  by  the  hand  of 
Professor  Drew.  J.  U.  L. 


408 


CHAPTER   LXVII 

THE    MUSIC    AND    THE    VOICE    DIE    OUT    FOREVER 

MANY  of  the  residents  of  Northern  Kentucky  can 
recall  the  familiar  form  of  old  Cupe,  a  black 
man  who,  with  violin  in  hand,  during  the  summer 
months  wandered  about  that  section  of  the  State,  His 
garments  were  of  many  colours  and  patterns,  and  were 
abundantly  and  curiously  patched.  Old  and  feeble  was 
he,  queer  in  action  and  shrewd  in  tongue,  but  polite  to  a 
fault.  To  one  man  he  would  give  a  curt  question,  to 
another  a  shrewd  reply  or  a  comical  side  remark,  but 
always  would  he  ask  of  each  :  "  Hab  yo'  seed  de  Susie 
chile  sense  I  gwine  dis  way  ?  "  or,  u  Hab  de  deah  Susie 
chile  gwine  yoah  way  ?  "  Some  considered  him  a  pro 
fessional  vagrant,  others  thought  him  demented,  although 
there  were  people  who  knew  that  he  was  searching  for 
his  life  charge,  who  disappeared  from  Stringtown  seem 
ingly  without  bidding  any  one  farewell.  It  was  gener 
ally  accepted  that  the  childishness  of  age  had  touched 
him,  and  all  agreed  that  the  demented  old  man  was 
harmless. 

Three  days  before  the  close  of  the  Period  of  Retreat 
at  beautiful  Nazareth,  in  Kentucky,  the  Mother  Home 
of  the  patient  Sisters  of  Charity,  the  form  of  old  Cupe 
might  have  been  seen  advancing  along  the  road  from 
the  village  of  Bardstown.  Reaching  the  entrance  to  the 
grounds  that  surround  the  quiet  building  which  shelters 

409 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

those  self-sacrificing  women,  whose  greatest  pleasure 
lies  in  doing  charity  in  the  world,  and  in  praying  for  the 
betterment  of  mankind,  he  passed  the  entrance  and 
reached  the  broad  avenue  that  leads  to  the  central  build 
ing.  Passing  along  this,  he  came  to  a  lane  which  led  to 
the  right  and  terminated  before  an  uplifted  cross  bearing 
the  form  of  the  Saviour,  while  at  its  base  were  many 
rows  of  modest  white  tombstones.  The  old  man  bent 
the  knee,  as  is  the  wont  of  all  good  Catholics  before  a 
sacred  shrine  (although  he  was  not  a  Catholic),  and  then 
passed  on  toward  the  house  before  him.  It  was  the 
hour  of  five,  the  hour  for  closing  the  service  in  the  little 
chapel  which  nestled  to  the  right  of  the  great  home 
building.  From  out  the  front  door  came  now  the  good 
Sisters  in  their  sable  dress  and  white  caps ;  silently  they 
scattered  over  the  grounds,  each  absorbed  in  meditation. 
The  negro  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  eLm-flanked  road, 
took  off  his  tattered  hat,  and  with  bent  form  stood  as 
silent  as  were  the  nuns  who  passed  in  pairs  and  in  groups. 
The  eyes  of  a  few  were  raised  as  they  met  his  shadow 
on  the  drive,  but  they  dropped  at  once ;  still  the  major 
ity  moved  on  without  making  any  recognition  whatever 
of  the  presence  of  the  lonely  man  who  had  entered  that 
sanctuary.  Then  along  the  path  came  one  of  the  throng 
whose  face  arrested  the  gaze  of  the  negro.  His  torn  hat 
now  dropped  to  the  ground,  the  hickory  cane  fell  from 
his  nervous  grasp,  and  then  he  kneeled  on  the  gravel 
with  eyes  riveted  on  the  girl.  Raising  his  arms,  he  ex 
tended  them  toward  the  silent  woman,  u  Susie." 

Hearing  the  voice,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  caught 
sight  of  the  intruder.  A  sudden  start,  a  step  toward  the 
kneeling  man,  a  reaching  out  of  her  arms,  and  then,  as 
could  be  seen,  by  a  strong  mental  effort  her  form  re 
sumed  its  normal  position,  her  eyes  dropped  again  to  the 

410 


The  Music  and  the  Voice,  &c. 

ground,  and  she  too  passed  on,  and  walked  through  the 
lane  that  led  toward  the  crucifix. 

The  negro  arose  and  remained  standing  by  the  edge 
of  the  gravel  roadbed,  until  the  silent  Sisters  retraced 
their  steps,  but  this  time  the  face  he  knew  so  well  passed 
him  by,  no  upturned  eye  met  his  look,  no  faltering  step 
nor  outstretched  arm  ;  and  as  night  fell  the  aged  wan 
derer  turned  and  left  the  sacred  grounds. 

The  next  afternoon  the  old  man  again  stood  beside  the 
avenue  at  the  very  junction  of  the  path,  again  he  kneeled 
and  held  out  his  arms  toward  the  sweet-faced  girl,  and 
imploringly  called  her  name ;  but  this  time  she  made  no 
recognition  of  his  presence.  True  to  her  vow,  with 
standing  temptation  —  for  this  friend  of  other  days  stirred 
her  emotions  to  the  heart-depths  —  she  passed,  and  turned 
back  to  leave  him  in  the  gloom  of  evening  standing,  vio 
lin  in  hand,  as  before.  But  the  next  afternoon  the  Re 
treat  of  Silence  ended,  for  the  eight  days  of  prayer  and 
meditation  had  passed,  and  then  the  faithful  nuns  came 
out  of  the  church  talking  with  one  another,  and  free  to 
speak  with  whomsoever  they  met.  And  now  the  girl 
called  Susie  sought  at  once  the  spot  where  the  negro 
stood ;  she  held  out  both  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  And  is  this  dear  old  Cupe  ?  " 

"  Et  am  Cupe.  He  hab  trabelled  up  an'  down,  up 
an'  down,  lookin'  fo'  de  Susie  chile." 

"Susie  no  longer,  Cupe;  no  longer  the  Susie  you 
knew  in  the  world." 

"  Yo'  am  walkin'  an'  talkin'  an*  yo*  hab  de  same 
sweet  face." 

"  Tell  me  of  Aunt  Dinah." 

"  She  am  pow'ful  weak,  an'  sits  in  de  ole  cabin  waitin* 
fo'  Susie  ;  an'  each  time  when  Cupe  come  up  de  walk  an' 
look  in  de  doah  she  say,  c  Wha'  am  de  Susie  chile  ?  * 

411 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

An*  den  Cupe  say  to  hisse'f,  c  Go  back,  ole  Cupe,  an' 
walk  up  an*  down  till  de  gearl  am  founY  ' 

"  Did  you  get  the  money  I  placed  with  Judge  Elford 
to  care  for  you  and  Dinah  during  your  lives  ?  " 

"  Et  am  all  safe  waitin'  fo'  de  Susie  gearl  t'  come 
back  an'  spen'  et." 

u  That  can  never  be,  Cupe." 

"  An'  caint  yo'  go  back  wid  de  ole  man  ? " 

"  No ;  this  is  my  home,  and  that  lane  leads  to  my 
final  resting-place.  Never  yet  did  one  of  my  sisters 
break  her  vow,  nor  shall  I.  Go  back  to  Dinah,  Cupicl, 
say  to  her  that  Susie  is  no  longer  a  part  of  the  world." 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  the  mass  of  rags  in  which  he 
was  clothed,  and  took  out  a  purse  well  filled  with  bills. 
"  Yo  '11  honah  de  ole  man  by  takin'  de  money." 

"  Is  this  part  of  the  money  I  left  with  Judge  Elford  to 
support  you  and  Dinah  ?  " 

"Et  am." 

"  Carry  it  to  Dinah.  I  have  no  need  of  money ;  I 
am  comfortable." 

"  An'  mus'  de  ole  man  go  home  alone  an*  say  t* 
Dinah  de  dear  gearl  '11  nebbah  come  back  t'  de  cabin  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Could  n't  Cupe  an'  Dinah  come  t'  a  cabin  h'ar'bout 
an'  lib  wha'  dey  kin  see  de  big  house  yo'  libs  in  ?  Et 
'ud  be  monstrous  soovin'  t'  de  ole  man." 

"  No,  Cupe ;  bid  me  good-bye  and  go  home  to 
Dinah." 

"  Please,  Missus  Susie,  yo'  needn't  feah  no  troub'l ; 
Cupe  '11  jes  come  down  t'  de  walk  in  de  ebenin'  an'  stan' 
by  de  side  ob  de  road,  an'  he  won't  say  nuffin'  t'  boddah 
yo'.  Yo'  may  pass  up  an'  down,  an'  Cupe  '11  look 
on  yoah  sweet  face,  an'  den  tu'n  'bout  an'  go  back  t' 
Dinah." 

412 


The  Music  and  the  Voice,  &c. 

u  I  am  with  you  always,  I  love  you  as  much  as  ever. 
But  you  must  not  come  here  to  live.  Go  back  to  Dinah 
and  be  happy  in  the  old  cabin." 

"  An'  dis  am  de  end,"  he  muttered,  "  de  end  ob  de 
walkin'  up  an'  down,  an'  up  an'  down."  Then  he 
added  :  "  Ef  yo'll  be  de  one  t'  say  good-bye,  an*  '11  let  de 
ole  man  stan'  heah  fo'  a  bit  t'-night,  dah  won't  be  no 
cause  t'  scold  him,  fo'  in  de  mahn'n  he'll  be  walkin' 
back  t'  Stringtown.  Honey  chile,  he  wants  t'  stan' 
heah  till  de  sun  goes  down,  till  de  da'kness  settles  obah 
de  Ian'  an'  obah  de  house  what  shets  yo'  up  ferebah." 

"  Good-bye,  Cupe,  my  dear  old  Cupe,"  said  the  sweet- 
faced  Sister.  She  pressed  his  black,  wrinkled  hands  be 
tween  her  white  palms,  while  the  tears  trickled  down  her 
cheeks.  Then  she  turned  and  left  him  standing  where 
the  cemetery  path  joins  the  great  elm  avenue  which  leads 
down  to  Nazareth. 

The  shadows  settled  as  fall  the  shades  of  summer's 
evening  in  this  midland  between  the  North  and  the 
South.  The  mournful  cry  of  the  whippoorwill,  that 
strange  bird  of  night,  arose  from  out  an  old  elm  to  the 
right,  and  from  the  left  came  the  answer.  Then  rang 
the  bell  that  summoned  the  nuns  to  prayer  and  repose, 
and  soon  thereafter,  throughout  the  great  house,  each 
light  went  out.  And  now  occurred  a  thing  unknown 
before  in  Nazareth.  From  near  to  where  moaned  the 
gloom-birds  a  soft  strain  of  music  floated  onto  the  air 
and  into  the  windows  of  the  nuns'  silent  house.  The 
melody  was  that  of  a  single  violin,  its  tone  so  plaintive 
that  it  thrilled  each  listener  with  a  sense  of  sadness. 
The  good  Father  in  the  little  house  to  the  right  stepped 
to  the  door ;  seemingly  heaven  was  sighing  to  some  one 
in  that  great  bank  of  buildings,  where  all  was  dark  and 
still.  Then  a  husky  voice,  which,  wordless  to  all  but 


Stringtown  on  the  Pike 

one,  seemed  scarcely  human,  arose  and  blended  in  the 
melody ;  but  to  that  one  of  the  listening  nuns  it  breathed 
a  familiar  refrain  : 

Yo'  ax  what  make  dis  da' key  weep, 

Why  he,  like  uddahs  am  not  gay  ; 
What  make  de  teahs  roll  down  his  cheek 

From  early  dawn  till  broke  ob  day  ? 

The  music  and  the  voice  died  out  forever;  the  moon 
cast  the  elm  trees'  shadows  across  the  vacant  avenue 
where  stood  the  mourning  singer ;  once  more  arose  the 
cry  of  the  night-bird. 


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Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  that 
a  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady_  having  ideas 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which,  her 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo 
rarily  adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Day .-3" 

THE  FASHIONABLE    ADVENTURES   OF  JOSHUA 

CRAIG.     By  David  Graham  Phillips.     Illustrated. 
A  young  westerner,   uncouth   and   unconventional,   appears  in 
political  and  social  life  in  Washington.     He  attains  power  in  poli 
tics,  and  a  young  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un 
dertaking  his  education  in  social  amenities. 

"  DOC."  GORDON.  By  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman.  Illus 
trated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  the  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  the 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc."  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place,  Dr.  Elliot,  his 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughter 
are  all  involved  in  the  plot.  A  novel  of  great  interest. 

HOLY  ORDERS.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  with 
society  people,  stage  favorites,  simple  village  folk,  powerful  finan 
ciers  and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "in 
holy  orders  " — problems  that  we  are  now  struggling  with  in  America. 

KATRINE.    By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.   With  frontispiece. 

Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 
birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 

The  narrative  is  based  on  the  facts  of  an  actual  singer's  career, 
and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 

THE    FORTUNES    OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  first  Napoleon.  Fifi, 
a  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  third 
rate  Parisian  theatre.  A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  painting. 

SHE  THAT  HESITATES.  By  Harris  Dickson.  Illus 
trated  by  C.  W.  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  St. 
Petersburg  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
hesitates — but  you  must  read  the  story  to  know  how  she  that  hesitates 
may  be  lost  and  yet  saved. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

HAPPY  HAWKINS.     By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.    Illus- 

trated  by  Howard  Giles. 

A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
with  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.    By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.    Illustrated  by  C.  D. 
Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion 
ment,  and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  oi  light  on  one  side  of  an 
important  question. 
TONO-BUNGAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  still 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  never 
crossed.     An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page — Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement. 
A  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city, 
is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 
through  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  woman,  who  seems  at  times  the 
simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue.  A  baffling 
detective  story. 

LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN.    By  George   Horton.    Illus 
trated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
"  Helen  "  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,  defiant— pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a  certain  new  force  about  the  story,  a  kind  of  master- 
craftsmanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 
THE     MASTER    OF    APPLEBY.     By    Francis    Lynde. 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 
A  MODERN  MADONNA.    By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  maternal 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE:OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


m 


1933 


12  1935 


-f* 


937 


TOft 


-4=0- 


EP22  !974  25 


JUN   81987 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


BffiWI 


24797S 


